Meditative Prose

Saturday, 8 March 2008

Of course I’d rather not work on a Saturday, but it is occasional — maybe once a month — and only for an hour each time. And on Saturdays I have the place to myself. I can be even less strict about my usual work attire (which I’d call “Burlington business casual”: jeans, crocs, and a sweater) and keep my hoodie and knit hat on. Once I turn on the lights and unlock the store, I put some Bob Dylan on the stereo and have a seat behind my cash register with whatever I’m reading. Today it was an old favorite, Walden, and next week’s issue of The Nation.

So I can’t really complain too much about working on a Saturday, especially one as nasty as today: it has been raining or sleeting or hailing since yesterday afternoon, and everything is crusted over with ice. I got to and from work without falling on my ass, but I think I’ll stay home for the rest of the day and let the changing sound of the precipitation be the background music for a lazy Saturday. (And here’s an old post about listening to the rain: A False Spring.)

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