I don’t know when it happened but at some point I started sleeping later on Saturday mornings. As a child, I would wake up early on Saturdays to watch cartoons and Rin Tin Tin, before my parents woke up. I bet you all had favorites including Howdy Doody, Mighty Mouse, Captain Kangaroo, and The Lone Ranger. Then at some point my system shifted gears and my body craved more sleep on Saturdays, and there was nobody who was shouting, “Wake up, sleepy head.” It was if my body and puberty were in sync.
In later years, I went through spells where I would wake up early on Saturday maybe to do an early morning run (Don’t laugh. I used to jog every morning in my thirties). I also might get up early to make a tee time or go to Bard’s with my father for breakfast. But most of the time, Saturday mornings were for sleeping. Even on sabbatical, Saturday morning was sleeping time.
Now in my later years, my sleeping in on Saturday is not planned. It just happens. My body somehow knows that it is Saturday and its okay to get a little extra shut-eye. I’d rather get up to take my grandkids to breakfast like my father, but these days that can’t happen, so I just roll over and thank God for Saturday mornings.
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