AUSTIN, Texas, June 10, 2006 — When I worked, weekends had that lovely unfolding on Friday. ("It's the weekend. All is possible.") Followed by a lot of sweet Saturdays of jumping up and watching something like a live women's final from a Grand Slam tennis tournament. Drinking coffee, reading the newspaper. Although often not that day's newspaper but one that had collected during the work week when I hurried off to work with only a little writing first and maybe no reading and then at the end of the day even if I got home at a reasonable time being distracted by going to the gym or out for an event.

In retirement there is never enough time

either. The newspapers pile up. But Saturdays tend to not distinguish themselves as much.

As my retirement stretches into its fourth year, this is, oddly enough, starting to change. I seem to be more influenced by the world's schedule. It's Saturday. Things ought to be different. Even if the DVR is dutifully recording the Women's Final of the French Open, maybe I should sit with some nicely brewed coffee and watch it. Reading some piled up newspapers during the commercials. (In this case the special food edition of The New York TImes Book Review from May 28.) Yeah, I'll get to the gym, but the Saturday crowds aren't the same.

My dad even feels this. Every day I try to make a welfare call to him since he lives alone.

Today he noted it was Saturday. (My call was also a bit later than usual.) "I didn't know if you'd call. It's Saturday, a day off.")

I kind of wished that the tennis match would go to three sets. Which it looked like it would at one point. Just so I could savor this pleasure of letting myself sit and watch. Reading during the commercials. Sipping coffee.