There are no revelations, or even surprises. Those are not important on the sort of days that fill weekends like this. Just clear and focused good.

It started friday, a lazy hot evening like most this summer. Biking home and being too tired to really move around for a while, better to just lay on the couch and read in a kind of restless way. I was not expecting the call for another day, but they are on a loose schedule, and it was good to hear from them anyways. They told me where on the highway they were and we estimated that it would take them three or four hours to arrive. During that time I waved goodbye to roommates C. and T. on their way to the drive in, and rode my bike out to get some apples for a pie. The tree is only five or six blocks away and stands in the middle of a big lonely field. The field where we used to build forts as kids of seven or eight when there was enough snow, or just threw snowballs at each other instead. The week before I had been picking apples when a couple stopped their truck, the lady began gathering a couple off the ground and putting them into a pile. When I looked over the guy had shimmied up the trunk of the tree and was striding out along a narrow branch way up in the tree, shaking the branches so apples would spill down onto the ground in thumping clusters. He was so at ease and gracefull in a precarious position. This evening nobody else was around and there were no good apples on the ground. I threw the rotton apples up into the branches trying to aim for the largest, most ripe apples. It takes a couple tries for each one, and they usually fall to the ground before I can catch them, leaving one side bruised. Nine was enough and I went home to peel them and pit cherries. G. and S. rolled into town, into the driveway, and up the backdoor steps as I was making the top crust of the pie. I put it in the oven and we talked about their trip and other things. S. had this elusive southern accent, most of the time it was mild but occasionally would sneak out rich and slow, I would be secretly very pleased. He was polite but just a little laid back rowdy, G. was more reserved than before. I had them trace their hands for me. They asked whether I had figured out what exactly I was doing with all the tracings, I still do not know. I just like them for now. I like looking at all the different funny hands, and the good people they allude to.

After eating pie we set out into the country, I wanted to show them one of the nice rituals in our small town. There are things that need to be done at certain times of the year, things that you look forward to and which give seasons like summer exceptional charm. We drove on the curvy roads past farm houses, orchards, and fields of grass seed and mint. Walked along the side of the highway on the shoulder and along the white line until the car passed, then we turned into the field towards the huge hay stacks. I squirmed between two and shimmied my way up the crack to the top, running along them jumping from one to the next until. They climbed up too and we laid on our backs and sides, looking at the stars, hills, and blinking lights. S. said it would be a marvellous place to be ten. I misunderstood him, thought he meant here and now and everything else tangled up with how the hay bales got into these piles, said it would be a lot of work. But he meant just us and now, and said he was going to be ten for a while. Later, S. warned me that he might snore, and he was right. But it only on his way into sleep, once he stopped tossing around his breathing settled down slow and even, no more snores and just quiet. I fell asleep sometime then, but no dreams, and not even a very deep sleep either.

I woke up early and everyone else was still asleep, or at least not moving. I keep waking up at 9:00 am no matter what I do the night before, just cannot seem to shake the schedule. I washed a couple dishes and sat on the porch drinking some water, the day was starting off cool and pleasant. S. came out and we talked about not too much and maybe what to do for breakfast. G. woke up as I was going to close the door so she could continue her sleep undisturbed. I sent them out to pick blackberries with a bucket and later we had pancakes with fresh fruit. C. woke up blinking tired eyes and walking the slow morning stumble to the bathroom, fed him some pancakes too. After breakfast the two went on their way north, and a couple hours later I was going that same direction. I carpooled with S. and dropped her off at home, and scored a case of amazing paint at the going out of business store under her guidance. I called called on L., he was sort of but not like I expected him to be. At first stand offish but trying to hide behind charm and jokes, it got better later on. It became comfortable. There are things I am not sure of about him, but will be careful and patient because he is inspiring in small ways. P. and I went to the theatre where S. was working and said hello, then slipped into the room where Akira was playing. I had been craving that movie lately and it was unusual how, when I wanted to see it again most, there it was on a big screen and for free. I like when things work out, when you have been secretly wishing.

The next day did I wake up at 9:00? Of course I did. I was down at the train tracks and there was C., sitting on a bucket drinking beer with his shirt off. Looking so at home under the grimey bridge with the bright colors popping off the walls behind him, we talked a little and then he got back to painting. J. came walking down the tracks, his energy is infectious, I always find myself cranking up my mind several notches whenever we talk. I love the playful but kind of sharp dialogue that sometimes dips into larger thoughts, but only for a moment, and then flips back to all crazy ideas and plans and jokes. We gave up waiting for the train there and drove to a different spot, we heard there would be some nice boxcars. It was just perfect, we started painting under the searing sun with shadows that steadily shrunk, things went well. I kept drinking J.'s water, while he seemed content to have none. When we finished it was good, but not as good as we had wanted. And that is how it should be sometimes, wanting more keeps you trying harder as long as you get enough to keep going. We both want to push ourselves further, see where we could go and what we are capable of. In a sort of daze I drove home among a pack of cars all pushing well over the speed limit, the cars shifted around a little but were always close together, a sort of automotive herd. On the streets to home I stopped briefly and picked some more apples. Then sleep, more restless sleep.

9:00 am, again. I rode my bike out to pick blackberries, the spot P. showed me, where there are always huge beautiful sweet ones. So huge and delicious that they always remind me of The Land of the Lost where everything was prehistorically large and bountiful. Ya, that good, if you will believe me. L. and R. showed up just as I was leaving to work. I had been waiting, but decided after a couple hours that posting a note and having them call would be a better use of time. We got down to business, L. peeled apples and R. washed berries while I put together crust. We soon had some pie and ate it in the shade of a huge tree across the street. First blackberry, then the apple was cool enough and we had some of that too. Lying in the grass we started telling a story together, taking turns and making it up as we went along. A sunny afternoon should last forever, but this one did not. Would it have been as nice if it had? I closed up the house, and we went our seperate directions.

That was my weekend, or at least the parts I liked best.

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