It is Saturday, errand day. It is also February, a time when unrelenting grey days can contribute to a kind of malaise, a melancholy, a frank need for sun. I have errands to do today. There are bags of salt to pick up at ACE, a mini-vacuum to take to Home Depot, (for further instructions on how to put it together, accompanying manual not withstanding). A brief grocery store foray shouldn’t take long to “pick up a few things”.
Its errand day and I am a widow, nearing the March 7, 2016 date my first and only love passed away four years ago. I don’t cry as often now, though quick tears can still surprise me. I am not crying now as I write, though I am remembering. I am remembering a typical Saturday with errands. My memories morph into what typical Saturdays throughout our later years became, after the kids were gone, when there were fewer deadlines, when meals could be fluid, when we could go with the flow. When spontaneity was part of the fun.
We make a list. It is a his and her’s list. Nothing on this list is particularly exciting, mostly necessary household items, and, heaven forbid a possible stop at Costco, Bob’s favorite, and my least favorite cavernous shopping venue. Bob loves Costco. “Its got a great business plan, Babe. We’ll only get what we need.” And I ask, “then why is it always well over a hundred bucks, regardless?”
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit our tiffs, our need to compromise, our disagreements on how to tackle an errands day. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t document the fun we had, the easy one-liners, the teasing, the laughter, the random decision to hit Town House Books and Cafe in St. Charles, books for me, food for us both, an unplanned treat.
It is Saturday, errand day. I’m heading out. I will not be doing a Costco run (don’t even have a membership at this juncture), and if I hit Town House books I won’t sit down in the cafe. I may treat myself to a book if I can find one, order a bowl of soup and eat in my car. Today, I will be grateful that the days are longer, that I can see from my bedside perch the drab winter beauty of February, every tone of grey and white and brown, stark against an ashy sky. And I will remember with great thanksgiving, the errand days of yesteryear.