Viewing this blank screen in front of me can sometimes be overwhelming. What do I write about? There are endless things one could write.

Today, I have a feeling to anxiousness. My thoughts are all over the place and I can’t seem to reel them in and focus on only one. This post may be full of ramblings for the reader, you, to sort out. But, it will be real. It will be me. If you never experience this way of thinking, then you are fortunate!

Mornings are my jive. I love mornings. Oftentimes, my thoughts about mornings are that five days of the week, my mornings are lost because they are spent at work. Work gets my best self, my most productive self, my most awake self. Lucky work. Weekends, though? Those are mine and my family’s. This morning, I will spend it writing.

Saturday mornings take me back to childhood when my mom could be seen in the living room opening the drapes covering our large picture window to the backyard view. Our house was small, just under 1100 square feet, built on a slab foundation, and our view was not majestic. The view took in our red-fenced yard and six or seven houses surrounding ours in the neighborhood. My mom was not bothered by the view. She was interested in the sunshine pouring through that window when the drapes were open. I could stare for long periods of time at the dust dancing in the air visible only when the suns rays hit just right. OH! To be like that dust, dancing. Floating freely. Not a care in the world. My mom’s happy voice singing “Let the sunshine in….” always set the tone for the day.

Saturdays were great days. The day started with cartoons and then breakfast. We did not eat breakfast in the living room. We ate our meals together at the table in the dining area, which was open and connected to the living room. Breakfast was either cereal or toast or eggs and toast, and sometimes we had pancakes, eggs, and bacon or sausage. I can smell the maple syrup just thinking about it!

If it was a cleaning day, which oftentimes, Saturdays were, My mom and sister and brother and I would work together inside to clean the house, while dad was busy doing the outside work of mowing the lawn or washing the cars, in the summer. The screen door to the front sidewalk and yard was opening and closing constantly throughout the day as we would find reasons to “escape” our housework in the inside for just a few minutes. Our poor mother. She never did yell at us though. Not once. She was patient and kind and very caring as we worked a little and played a lot.

When the cleaning was done inside (which did not really take all that long because the house was not huge) we could go outside and help dad or play. I loved helping wash the car and pickup. The pickup was big and not as easy to clean as the car, but it was fun to help with either one. My dad was somewhat particular. He liked to do a job and do it right. His mom was very clean and taught her children to be that way. So, cleaning the car meant cleaning the door jams, cleaning the air vents – one lever at a time, cleaning out the ashtrays – not simply dumping the ashes (so glad my dad quit smoking), etc.

Cleaning the car meant waxing the finish. Dad would pull the car up on the lawn under the shade tree so it would be cooler while cleaning, also so the wax would not get so hot on the finish. I remember the feel of using the wax pad to swipe across the wax tub to pick up enough wax to cover as much area as possible. Circles and circles and circles. This was the way to put the wax on the car. Circle on with the wax pad. Circle off with the clean dry cloth. After I would do the best I could to clean the wax off, Dad would come along behind and get the areas I missed. I loved to see those vehicles shine when dad drove them off the lawn into the sunshine. Beautiful!

Mom and Dad taught us that hard work pays off. And, that hard work can be fun. And that attitude is everything.

Look at that! I was able to focus on one memory. A flood of other memories came rushing to my mind, so I wrote a list of those. I will share memories, ongoing.