Sunday afternoons have been depressing for as long as I can remember. But these days it seems to be spilling over into Saturdays. I have problems with weekends, it seems. I so look forward to them, but then Saturday morning rolls around and I’m lazy and gloomy from the moment I get out of bed and it takes ages for me to actually work up the desire to do anything at all. Maybe it’s winter, I don’t know. (Or maybe it’s Spring, of which the melting days I seem to find a little depressing. I’m an Autumn guy, myself.)
Many people use their Saturday mornings for cleaning the house. I’d prefer to clean the house on Friday night—it’s horrible to start Saturday with a messy house, especially if it’s the kitchen that’s messy. I like to start Saturday clean.
But on Saturdays I get up late and the house usually needs cleaning (which is my own fault). And I feel tired and lazy and I’m listless, fidgety with no desire to do anything—no book, music or film appeals to me. And then I turn on the computer and after a couple of minutes online I feel worse. I’ve got to start keeping the computer off on weekends.
Just after lunch on Saturday, I watched Frank McCourt’s tour of historic Dublin pubs on PBS. For some reason this depressed me. Perhaps, even though I’m more a homebody than a socialite, I was quietly lamenting the lack of night life or pub culture or any significant culture at all in this town (if it exists, please tell me). Perhaps I was envious of perceived European culture (I do love Ireland—well, the entire UK, really—but I’ve probably got a very romantic idea of it all, no thanks to the movies). At any rate, the documentary made things worse.
Perhaps on weekends, when I have nothing necessary to do, I begin to realize that I shut things out of my life—the truth, the voice of God—with busyness. I, too, am trying to find wholeness, or trying to deny that I lack it. The ease and silence—the non-busyness—of the weekend brings up that truth.
Two things will often fix the Saturday/Sunday blues: a solid cat-nap and/or a little trip somewhere—some fresh air from a walk around the block, a drive in the country. The cat-nap is the easy choice but it often turns into a 2-3 hour sleep, which makes me feel worse. So the key is the day trip, but it always takes me hours to actually decide if and where I want to go. Usually this means we don’t leave until late in the afternoon. Sometimes it means it’s too late to go at all.
Remember the other day when I was daydreaming about a trip to the coffee house in Albertville (Saskatchewan)? Well, that dream kind of came true on Saturday, although it wasn’t just Dixie and I. I had said early in the day that I had to get out of the house with the camera. It took most of the day to get motivated to actually go, but eventually we decided that the whole family would drive out to Albertville . Thankfully Country Coffee Time (right next to the cathedral) was open after 5 on a Saturday.
They’ve got delicious cinnamon buns (risen in cream) and pizza buns, all manner of teas and specialty drinks. They don’t have enough traffic to have fresh ground coffee beans or roast variety, but their coffee is still good and strong. Check it out some time!
(None of my photographs turned out, incidentally. Frustrating.)
On Saturday night, I consoled my I’m Not Irish No Do I Live in Ireland blues with a pint of Guinness and a viewing of Waking Ned Devine. And I think tonight I’ll look up some traditional Irish music on emusic.com.
“So fill to me the parting glass, good night and joy be with you all”