At 65 years old, I make my own hours. I write, I work, and for the most part, I decide what each day will look like. You might think that without a traditional Monday-through-Friday schedule, all the days would begin to blur together.

But they don’t.

Saturday and Sunday still feel different to me. They seem calmer, quieter, and more peaceful. There’s a softness to the weekends—a feeling that the world has slowed down just enough for us to breathe a little deeper and move a little slower.

Maybe it comes from raising five children. Monday through Friday meant alarm clocks, school lunches, homework, schedules, and getting everyone where they needed to be on time. The weekends meant no school, no lunches to pack, and no rushing out the door. They were our lazy days, our fun days, and our family days.

Later, when I worked full-time, Saturdays and Sundays became the days I cleaned the house, went food shopping, ran errands, and tried to fit in everything I couldn’t do during the week. They weren’t always restful, but they were mine. Even with a long list of things to accomplish, the weekends carried a sense of freedom.

Life looks very different now, yet that feeling has stayed with me. There’s still something special about waking up on a Saturday morning and knowing that the weekend has arrived. The air feels different. The pace feels gentler. Even an ordinary cup of coffee feels a little more enjoyable.

Perhaps our hearts remember the rhythm of the lives we once lived. Mine still remembers weekends as a time to exhale, reconnect, and simply enjoy being home.

And after all these years, Saturday and Sunday are still my favorite days.

Wishing you love and light,

~Anne Dennish~