S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night

I'm not sure exactly how it all started. One minute my daughter and I are at the table eating our mega-comfort cheese, bacon and sour cream laden - nay, burdened - baked potatoes and the next I'm talking about how when I was a young 'un of around eight or nine, the Bay City Rollers were the big one-hit wonder (yeah, they had a second release, but nobody remembers it) of my time. Next thing I know, I've launched into a hearty rendition of "Saturday Night" that even has the 13 month old dancing. Of course, give him any kind of a perky rhythm and he's a dancing fool. I was surprised at the number of words I could sing:

"Oh, keep on dancin' to the rock & roll
On Saturday night, Saturday night.
Dancin' to the rhythm of the heart and soul,
Saturday night, Saturday night."

Now for this next part you've got to throw your head back and bray like a Missouri Mule.

"I-yi-yi-yi just can't wait.
I-yi-yi-yi got a date."

Now we do the white man's head bob. Remember, at the time men's pop hairstyles were rather...effeminate, so one must bob to best show off the cut and blow dry.

"Well, that good ol' rock and roll old show I gotta go [huh?]
Saturday night, Saturday night.
Gonna rock it up, roll it up, do it all, have a ball.
Saturday night, Saturday night.
S-s-s-saturday night. S-s-s-Saturday night."

And, then, of course. The chant.

Ah, that was fun.

On the other end of the spectrum, I ran across an old Edna St. Vincent Millay poem (1917) and thought I'd share it.

(and it goes a little something like this:)

When the Year Grows Old

I cannot but remember
When the year grows old -
October - November -
How she disliked the cold!

She used to watch the swallows
Go down across the sky.
And turn from the window
With a little sharp sigh.

And often when the brown leaves
Were brittle on the ground,
And the wind in the chimney
Made a melancholy sound,

She had a look about her
That I wish I could forget -
The look of a scared thing
Sitting in a net!

Oh, beautiful at nightfall
The soft spitting snow!
And beautiful the bare boughs
Rubbing to and fro!

But the roaring of the fire,
And the warmth of fur,
And the boiling of the kettle
Were beautiful to her!

I cannot but remember
When the year grows old -
October - November -
How she disliked the cold!

Tonight

Tonight my house is full of people. Upstairs are my in-laws and my children's great grandmother. Downstairs on one couch is my teen (who wasn't all that put out about sleeping on the new cushy sofa) and on the other is my dog, who cannot be kept off the couch anyway, so why bother. Upstairs on the other side of the house is a husband and a baby as two cats prowl back and forth looking somewhat like they're members of a roving, balletic gang. I can almost hear the music in my head: "Mouse, mouse, crazy mouse...come out, mouse. Mousie, mousie, silly mousie, come out and play, mouse." They'd snap if they could, I'm sure.

But I digress.

My house is full. My simple dinner eaten and appreciated. Everyone's asleep, the new front door is installed - all except one side of the deadbolt (but it still works all you who would break in to steal two Elmos and a comfy black naughahyde chair saved from the dumpster). I've waited for this moment for...three months? All are occupied. I am awake. There is no baby asleep anywhere on my person.

And I am lonely.

The visit from my husband's relatives has been nice, actually. Sometimes even downright fun. Of course, I haven't had adult conversation in quite some time so it could just be me. But I've enjoyed it. Enjoyed cooking - or not, in the case of breakfast. Enjoyed having a house full of someone other than just myself and a 13 month old (today!).

But, tonight, I am lonely.

Lonely for myself. Lonely to have the house completely to myself, light the candles, sing and play as loud as I want (without complaint of my song choices - hey, I don't work at a piano bar anymore), eat broccoli if I so choose. I am lonely for conversation other than politics, gossip, finances, the children and the sad, sorry state of our house. I am lonely for mental intimacy and spiritual renewal. I am lonely for my cousin and my aunt. I am lonely for the annual lighting of the Plaza on Thanksgiving Night and I am lonely for familiar sights and sounds. I am lonely for the goodness of mankind on the news. I am lonely for my own good company. I am desperately lonely for a facial. (Well, maybe not lonely but desperate)

I am lonely for unconditional love given by someone other than my baby and my dog. I am lonely for a like mind. I am lonely for the man I married.

Most of all, I think, I am lonely for life. That every day investment of the soul into the day you are experiencing at that very moment. The - what's that silly phrase? - the carpe diem. Seize the dentist, or something like that. I am lonely for the way I used to experience my life. The passion, the mistakes, the happy coincidences, the long-forgottens and the happily remembereds. I am lonely for the energy, physical and mental, and the feeding of souls. Ah, yes, souls. And soul. I am also lonely for Al Green and Aretha Franklin.

Tonight. Tonight I'm lonely. Tomorrow I will wake up and be once more surrounded by my very unlonely day.

Just tonight.