Saturday mornings.........

Picture it.............


It is 10.30am, I have wandered blearily downstairs to the kitchen, desperate for something to remove my tongue from the roof of my mouth, to discover 3 partially clad, 24 year old men, creating something resembling a home made version of 'Hell's Kitchen' (UK readers should recognise the reference to Gordon Ramsey and the celebrity cooks, everyone else will have to employ their finely tuned imagination). "Oh, did we wake you mum?", from my own adonis......."No", says I, groping blindly for the pineapple juice amongst the part-stock of Tescos currently residing in my fridge. "Oh good", says he, grinning angelically (I know I had my eyes closed, but I have seen it enough times, I know just how he looked from the sound of his voice), "We can turn the radio up."

They have descended on me for the weekend to attend the local Rock Festival, and are currently in the process of ingesting as many food items as can be found in my fridge, freezer and cupboards. In their commercially honed wisdom, the powers that be who organised the festival, have banned all foodstuffs and drinks, apart from water - and only 4 bottles of that - from festival goers. They either have to leave the site to obtain food in local shops and restaurants, or buy it there at vastly inflated prices. Hence the attempt to break the world speed record for emptying my kitchen before leaving for the site. And from my brief observations, they are making a damn good attempt.

Friend No. 1, said good morning, and asked me how I was. Opening one eye, slowly, I peered at him, trying to focus without my glasses........the look obviously worked, they all laughed.

With a nauseous glance at the sausages and chicken wings, eggs, tomatoes and goddess knows what else, being piled on to plates, I turned my back, and with a muttered "Just don't burn anything."......made my way back to the relative security of my study/bedroom. I could hear their laughter as I staggered back up the stairs.

Just a normal Saturday morning............3 handsome, partially clad young men, in my kitchen..........

Why should I have to suffer alone? So I'm sharing.

PS. I was going back to bed, but writing this has woken my up.

Good morning from sunny, hot, UK.

Matriarch.

Share away!

Why don't I get three sexy young men in my kitchen in the mornings? Let me know if you need a hand. I am so there!

Lou

Tatelou said:

Share away!

Why don't I get three sexy young men in my kitchen in the mornings? Let me know if you need a hand. I am so there!

Lou

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They are now actually in the preparation process for the day. Half naked now, wandering around in towels, dishevelled, wet hair.

That picture any better?

Come join me, you can drive them to the site later, and be waiting there after midnight for them, smiling as only a mum can, to bring them home.....hyper, happy, hungry.

Do I sound disgrutled?
Nah. Don't be fooled.
I LOVE having my youngest home, he is a breath of fresh air, and since getting used to this 'living alone' thing, its nice to hear sounds of life in the house again.

*smiling happily, as I descend the stairs to survey the mayhem*

Happy Saturday to all the mums out there......come to that, happy Saturday to EVERYONE.

Matriarch

They have mornings on Saturday? Why did no one tell me?

Gauche (who rarely rises before 12 on Saturday)

P.S (I may have mentioned this before) I just love the Englishness of your writing Matriarch. Even the posts on the boards. Very refreshing.

gauchecritic said:

They have mornings on Saturday? Why did no one tell me?

Gauche (who rarely rises before 12 on Saturday)

P.S (I may have mentioned this before) I just love the Englishness of your writing Matriarch. Even the posts on the boards. Very refreshing.

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Like you, I do not usually associate with Saturday mornings....preferring to doze, fantasise and wallow that part of the day away, but needs must today. I have delivered all 3 to my elder son, and now have the day back to myself. Just pondering on how to fill the hours between now and midnight.

Suggestions welcome.


And thank you for your compliment on my writing style. I'm not sure what is meant by 'Englishness', I tend to just write the way I am, the way I speak. I guess I'm too addicted to classic literature and the sound of a more convoluted vocabulary. Basically, I'm a mouthy old bat.

But, again. Thank you.

M

Ofcourse Saturdays have mornings, Gauche - that's what we call the time when we take the cab home to go to sleep.

Matriarch, that was a very fun read. I love when my sons bring their mates over, all that youthful virility is a treat. Enjoy the rest of your day, but don't forget to replenish the food. Gawd, my sons used to eat my paycheck up in a day.

best, Perdita

perdita said:

Matriarch, that was a very fun read. I love when my sons bring their mates over, all that youthful virility is a treat. Enjoy the rest of your day, but don't forget to replenish the food. Gawd, my sons used to eat my paycheck up in a day.

best, Perdita

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Perdita, I agree, all that youthful energy and enthusiasm does make me feel more alive than I would normally on a Saturday morning. Also very tiring, so I'm sort of glad they are gone for a few hours.

Thanks for the reminder about food....having successfully persuaded the garden hose and tap to co-operate in an attempt to replenish the sadly depleted fish pond, (without getting too wet), I will drag myself away from the cricket on tv (sorry people - football? leaves me cold, but a silly mid on, and loud 'howzat' will have my blood pressure up every time) and away, yet again, to Tescos. I don't have a truck to hand, my car will have to do to bring it all home.

And for the record, my paycheck went on the first visit. Now I'm moving into the overdraft.

M

Matriarch, I saw your post on the 3-things thread but thought I'd use yours to respond.

It's lovely to find another Callas adorer. I've read everything (in English) on her, have all her music, documentaries, etc. I've had several photographs and posters of her framed, they're on my walls at home and office. I brook no criticism of her, even it's true, haha.

Have you heard the CDs of her master classes or the interviews? Very worth your while. You must hear her coach a baritone for the role of Rigoletto. She instructs then sings a few notes, comments, sings a bar, going in and out of character in a split second. It's all in the voice. A critic said it before I knew of it and said myself, "She's the best Rigoletto I've heard."

Don't know if you like poetry, but I have a poem I wrote, "Listening to Callas". If you like I'll send it.

Vissi d'arte, vissi d'amore,

Perdita

matriarch said:

Picture it.............


It is 10.30am, I have wandered blearily downstairs to the kitchen, desperate for something to remove my tongue from the roof of my mouth,

<<SNIP>>

Good morning from sunny, hot, UK.

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You had me thinking, wow, sounds like my morning until you got to who was in the kitchen. At that point everything changed to, Great, such fun things I have to look forward to in about 10 years...<g>

Although, from the sort of friends he has...and the charming smile he has...I might be more likely to find either a mix of young men and women, or a small group of females hanging around my stepson...which might be a pretty interesting thing to wake up to on a Saturday morning at that...hehehe

Re: Re: Saturday mornings.........

Remec said:

Although, from the sort of friends he has...and the charming smile he has...I might be more likely to find either a mix of young men and women, or a small group of females hanging around my stepson...which might be a pretty interesting thing to wake up to on a Saturday morning at that...hehehe

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We've been through the girls/lads everywhere stage while in high school and at college. Many a morning have I had to avert my eyes from scantily clad females.*phew*.......the sleep overs were a severe strain........now that he's a grown up, and lives and works away from the nest......his visits are usually alone or with 'mates.

Anyway, I digress. As is obvious from the time it is now SUNDAY morning, we have moved on. Apart from the inevitable car alarm going off in the street and giving me minor heart failure at 4am, the night was painless.

But, I have once again wandered downstairs, and seeing a figure sitting in an armchair in the tv room, and the tv on, I muttered good morning. Getting no response, I squinted my un-spectacled eyes, and then fell about laughing. I was talking to a 4ft high black grizzly bear - the stuffed variety. (still grinning, although what I'd have done it if replied is a different matter).

Son and one friend have wandered off with the contents of my purse to the corner shop to buy.....heaven knows what for another of their gargantuan breakfasts. Sans shoes. Conversation:
Son: "Fancy a walk to the corner shop?"
F1: "yeah, why not." (I was going to suggest they take the bear so as not to make him feel left out)
Son: "Footwear. Do we need footwear?"
F1: "Nah."

I have to add, these are normally intelligent, coherent and amusing young men. I guess its early yet

So off they have gone in t-shirts and shorts, to walk barefoot on pavements (sidewalks to the other side of the pond) are designed to strip flesh from your bones. Oh the invulverability of youth.

Me? I'm going to shower and drink copious amounts of Lady Grey tea, black, no sugar to strengthen me for the onslaught about to take place, yet again, in the kitchen.

Good morning world. Happy Sunday. (And yes, its hot and sunny yet again. This must be the start of a record.)

M

Now Sunday mornings. I know all about Sunday mornings. Up at 6.30, try not to wake the wife, downstairs, large pot of tea, attend to youngest son, occasionally say goodnight to eldest son who is just going to bed after chatting all night on the 'net and these days (though not in those days {don't ask}) get on with writing and another pot of tea.

Curtailing said activity with numerous interuptions from youngest son and watching the world walk by my window.

Very possibly looking at a visit to the seaside shortly, depends on; 1, wife and 2, youngest son. (Oldest son in Scotland visiting 'net friends, tallest son, as ever, abed).

Back to writing.

Gauche

Sunday morning her too......

Morning all.........

Gauche, can't imagine wasting the morning.... I am an early riser every day out of body habit.

Yesterday, up at 4:30 am. Yes Gauche, there is a 4:30 in the morning.

Today I slept in, rose at 5:42 after laying awake for 30 minutes.

Love the morning!

Of course, by 11:00 pm, the old bones are getting hard to keep up........

Lou, I would undress in the kitchen for you! But you know that. Wait, I would undress anywhere you asked.

Boy, the mind still works.......... as does the rest of the body

Mtn

Mtnman:

Lou

I concur - mornings are the best part of the day...

...I just love getting up around 6 a.m.-ish, getting out the old dusty tomes and sitting down to study... mmm...

Some Sunday mornings used to be my Saturday nights (Don't ask). I can't imagine Gauche wasting any time, glad to hear he's writing.

Matriarch, you have a good story here, e.g., Lads' Weekend Visit. Please post more or write it up, with or without erotic bits.

addio, Perdita

p.s. It's 7am in San Francisco, sunny and cool.

perdita said:

Some Sunday mornings used to be my Saturday nights (Don't ask). I can't imagine Gauche wasting any time, glad to hear he's writing.

Matriarch, you have a good story here, e.g., Lads' Weekend Visit. Please post more or write it up, with or without erotic bits.

addio, Perdita

p.s. It's 7am in San Francisco, sunny and cool.

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a little after 9 am here, thunderstorms already...what a lovely way to start the morning.

I'm up, usually, between 5 and 6, but it's not my choice. The smallest savage is an early riser, although last night we had a bout with swimmer's ear that kept him up until around 1 so he slept in this morning.

Ahhh, children.

The one thing that strikes me about Sunday is the relative quite and my ability to concentrate . I don’t have any children of my own, but Monday through Friday I am faced with overly hyper grade schoolers from the School of the Holy (fuck, I squint, the tree is hiding the rest of the name) screaming at an operatic pitch that would definitely be the agony of anyone named Callas. Although, they might do Nina Hagan proud?

Monday through Friday it is near impossible to hold my concentration for any length of time through recesses, lunch, and worse, the end of the school day when a xylophone-like jingle (a sound not too far off from the child-catching villain caravan of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang) rolls down the street. Suddenly, happy red smiles yell “Ice-cream Man," and tiny bodies stampede, scrunching their faces against the latticed fence to stare, mouths open, and drooling with envy at any of the other children who happen to have a dollar twenty-five to buy anything.

And so, weekends are particularly precious for concentration.

Only today, I can’t concentrate.

I look at this thread with interest, wanting to write about my Sunday morning while sitting here on a small balcony off my bedroom, the laptop placed on a black plastic table in front of me. It’s a bit cool, but I’m barefoot in a pair of jeans and white t-shirt because of my determination to take advantage of any weather half resembling summer.

I glance over several flourishing maples, and two lilac trees. I look past the chocolate brown, brick school, and past the Canadian flag waving like smoke jutting and jabbing over the Union Jack in the corner of the provincial flag below it. A forest of trees, individual leaves barely, visible backdrop the school and hide all but the CN tower and taller office buildings downtown. Smoky blue, white and grey clouds mottle the sky as the morning moves on. Yet, the sun peers through the clouds for just a second, a bright yellow glimmer searing off the tip of the CN, almost blinding me.

I immediately look back at the computer.

I can’t concentrate.

I can’t seem to write nicotine free.

Out of the corner of my eye, below the fluorescent hum of the screen, my butt garden (a green flowerpot I have used as a dumping ground for scrunched up filters) vies for my attention.

I sip obsessively on my third coffee, trying to concentrate on writing about my Sunday morning, but as if a ghost calling out my name, “Tracy, Tracy,” that pot of a hundred du tabac fatale butts continue to stare up at me.

Without tilting my head, I look down, and that’s when I see it. That one, lone butt, it’s tan filter raised in the air toward me, it’s creamy shaft crinkle free, and the curve of the wine red letters 'DuMaurier' unmarred. I lick my lips in weakness, my heart pounding with an overly hyper beat, as if somehow enamoured. I slap myself, ‘No,’ and look back to the screen, my fingers hovering nervously over the keyboard.

Yet, my blood rushes, and my mouth drops and drools at the seductive memory of flavour. I look down to the street and watch a young guy on the sidewalk, a mist of silver smoke rings parting from his lips.

My eyes flutter a tempting glance back to the garden again, to that one erect butt. It looks good enough for just a puff or two? No more.

Desire curls through my blood, and all rationality begins to slip away.

It wouldn’t be like picking butts up off the street? It’s not as if anyone else’s lips have touched it?

Jesus Christ, what am I thinking!

The stores open at ten on a Sunday, right?

I look at the bottom right corner of my computer screen. It's 10:30. So much for determination.

Poor dear!

Aw, I'm even more in love with you, Charlus. School of the Holy Fuck sounds right. Wish I were there (with you, not in the school).

Perdita

perdita said:

Some Sunday mornings used to be my Saturday nights (Don't ask). I can't imagine Gauche wasting any time, glad to hear he's writing.

Matriarch, you have a good story here, e.g., Lads' Weekend Visit. Please post more or write it up, with or without erotic bits.

addio, Perdita

p.s. It's 7am in San Francisco, sunny and cool.

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Hullo again, Perdita. I'd be happy to keep you in touch with snippets, I have now the house back to myself, having deposted them with the other 30,000 revellers, and been out for a drive in the sunshine.

I am currently scaring myself to death totting up the final food intake for the weekend, with one more meal to go this evening, and pack-ups for their journey home tomorrow. Frightening. Just frightening.

The bear. It appeared with them at last night's pick up. They named it. And have become inordinately attached to it. They include it in conversations, sit it on the couch next to them while eating, and apparently during last evening, at the festival, ended up dressed in t-shirt, shorts, baseball cap and a can of lager in one of its paws. They are bear-sitting for a couple who won it, and are camping. Apparently they thought it would be safer in our house than their tent.

On the journey back to the site for today's offering, it was seated in the back between the friends, enjoying a quiet, non-stressful conversation. It decided it wanted to experience the view through the sunroof. I thought the woman driving behind me was going to laugh herself off the road. *still giggling at the memory*.

The friends were becoming maudlin and tearful at having to give the bear back to its 'parents'......son No. 2, turned to them, and in a serious voice which almost had me driving off the road through barely controlled laughter, said, "I told you it was a bad thing to name it. I told you it would make it harder to part when the time came, but would you listen to me? No....." God I love it when they are home, life is so....unexpected.

I have a kitchen and dining room to restore to order.

And its still very very very hot.

Matriarch.


PS. Today's headliner is the legendary David Bowie. But he will have to follow a live big-screen broadcast of the England/France match. Heaven help him if England loses.

matriarch said:

...son No. 2, turned to them, and in a serious voice which almost had me driving off the road through barely controlled laughter, said, "I told you it was a bad thing to name it. I told you it would make it harder to part when the time came, but would you listen to me? No....."

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Aw, I love your sons, M. Mine are 25 and 29 and still keep their raggedy, dirty old bears and other furry toys about. P.

perdita said:

Aw, I love your sons, M. Mine are 25 and 29 and still keep their raggedy, dirty old bears and other furry toys about. P.

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Time to finish this thread. Bear has been returned, tearfully to his rightful carers. All offers to give him (yes, it was gendered and named - Tap Jr.) a good home with them were refused. Boys have upped and returned home, yesterday in fact. I am still recovering (yet another early night tonight to try and catch up with lost sleep.)

The weekend was great fun for all of us (typical of England to spoil the fun by losing), and I have been restoring order to the 3 rooms taken over as bedrooms. During that time, I decided to scare myself my totting up just what they ate in the short time they were here. And scare it did. Have a look *flourishing a long list in front of your eyes*:

3 frozen lasagnes
2 dozen English sausages
10 pork pies
20 chicken wings
3 small baguettes loaves
1 large french loaf
1 can of corned beef
3 cans of baked beans
2lbs of tomatoes
5lbs of potatoes
1 doz eggs
1/2lb mushrooms
1 cucumber
1 iceberg lettuce
18 packs of crisps, assorted
1 lb minced beef
1 bag of dried pasta
1x4 pack of turkey burgers
half a loaf of bread
1/2lb butter
1 x 2 litres of coke
3 litres of fruit juice
12 slices of bacon
assorted vegetables
24 bottles of beer
1/4 lb cheese
1 1/2 pints of milk
2 x 2 twix bars
3 snickers bars
1 pack of chocolate croissants
1 x 8 pack of plain croissants
1 pack of chocolate chip muffins
1 x 3 pack of chocolate trifles

That's all I can remember at the moment. Remember this is only what they ate at home. I have no idea what they consumed at the festival.

Frightening isn't it. They were only here from Friday late afternoon until very early Monday, and most of that time were at the festival site or sleeping. How the hell did they manage it???? One of life's mysteries.

That said, it was enormous fun, I had a great time, laughed a great deal, and I missed them immediately they had gone. I hope they come back soon.

Not too soon, I have to have a quiet talk with my bank manager before the next visit.

g'night all,
I'm off to me bed.

hugs

M

Do they eat with shovels??????

Good god woman. It sounds like my house during a bout with PMS.!

ABSTRUSE said:

Do they eat with shovels??????

Good god woman. It sounds like my house during a bout with PMS.!

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LMAO

It might seem that way, but they have impeccable manners and never seemed to wolf their food. I just haven't managed to figure out just how they consumed that much in such a short time. It defies logic.

It was nice to be able to state with all honesty that I had NOT eaten all the crisps, or ALL the muffins. My halo is well polished and hovering nicely. For now.

I am just thankful PMT (in England its PMT) is almost a thing of the past. Yayyyyyyyy. Thank goddess for the menopause.

I really am off to bed now.

Enjoy the rest of you day.

M