Saturday morning, the golden glow of sunrise infused my bedroom, awakening me to its gentle caress on my cheeks. I opened my eyes and soaked it all in for just a moment before rolling over and catching a return ticket to dreamland. As I began to doze, I don’t know why, but I could just sense that it would be a perfect day.

An hour or two later, I decided to pull myself out of bed and let J sleep for a bit longer. We seem to do a complete role reversal on the weekends. During the work week, I am the one to always lie in bed an extra 5 minutes while he quickly hops out to obsessively delete the hundreds of junk emails that have flooded his Inbox overnight. But on weekends, I am always up a good hour or two before him... he likes using his free time on the weekends to sleep in, while I want to maximize my weekend for all it's worth.

I generally lumber out to the living room, and surf around online for a little while. After responding to a few emails, I'll eventually return to the bedroom singing some little tune that’s way too chipper for so "early" in the morning. After bugging J to get up and start the day, I usually find myself crawling back into bed for just a few more minutes, even though I'm wide awake. As J catches his last few Z's, (or pretends to), I lie there awake, appreciating the fact that we’re young and happy and that we have such a great life together.

I often take this time to imagine what life might be like in the future or what if one of us were to die before the other… such grim thoughts for an early Saturday morning, I know… but I feel that it’s important to occasionally reflect on these things -- especially when everything in life is going so well. When you pause to recognize how wonderful life really is at this very point in time, I think you are able to more fully appreciate these moments for all they’re worth. Life is unpredictable and there might come a day when I had wished I had spent more Saturday mornings cuddled in bed.

So after surfing the net this Saturday, that’s exactly what I did… I went back to the bedroom singing one of my silly little made up songs, and then tucked myself between the sheets and stayed there until I couldn’t stand it any longer… which was really only another 20 minutes or so… before I was itching to get up and get on with the day.

When J finally got his bum out of bed, he proposed that we skip the gym, and suggested that we go downtown to the Bean Scene instead. The Bean Scene is a fun little coffee shop that I have always loved. It has a far more colourful clientelle than you’ll ever find at any ol' Starbucks at the mall. A parade of original art hangs from chains, decorating the bare brick walls -- sometimes the art is very cool, other times it's not so much... The eclectic furniture is well worn and gives off a warm funky vibe. What kinds of conversations have those purple chairs been privy to? What secrets were shared upon that old Victorian style couch settled in the back corner?

When I used to live downtown, I’d go to the Bean Scene every weekend. I’d sit alone, sipping on my fair trade, organically grown Sumatra coffee, while writing in my journal -- random thoughts, poetic words, or quotes borrowed from the conversations I observed around me. Sometimes I'd lose myself between the pages of a newsprint magazine that is dedicated to the local art scene and environmental issues. Other times, I’d just sit back and take it all in… like the young hippy family who was always tucked away in the back corner, as their winged toddlers, dressed as dragons and fairies, danced and played to rhythmic drums. A procession of shaggy haired punks would make their way in one-by-one, still half asleep - or maybe they hadn't been to bed yet - who always looked like they just rolled out of a ditch wearing the same clothes from the party the night before. Then there is always older groups of bikers, making a pit stop on their morning route, decked out in their fluorescent spandex suits. And me… sitting in the groovy purple chair at a wobbly wooden table... quietly absorbing my surroundings. I enjoyed those days, and still miss them sometimes. So when J suggested going down to the Bean Scene on his own free will, once the initial surprise wore off, I was all over it like a dirty shirt... (not unlike the ones the punks slept in - or perhaps didn't sleep in?)

We gave our neighbour, RM, a call to see if he wanted to join us, and then headed out. I ordered a large medium blend coffee, but the stony dude behind the counter, who kinda resembled Jason Mewes with his toque pulled low over his long blond stands, was obviously still pretty green at the job. So instead I ended up with a medium dark blend coffee. Oh well, whatever. I think part of what confused him was when I asked for a large coffee and he said, “Umm... do you mean tall or grande?” WTF is with the trendy Starbucks lingo? You know that SB really dominates the coffee scene when independent coffee shops start changing their language to jive with the popular terms. “I don’t know…” I replied. “That size there.” I suppose my vague finger pointing didn’t help the boy's confusion. Oh well… I'm not picky anyway.

J n’ I sat inside for a while, as I ate a reheated day old cheese scone, and he enjoyed a scone of the freshly baked blueberry variety. After a while, a little table finally opened up outside and we jumped on it. An hour or so passed, as we finished off our coffees, when RM finally showed up. I can't say I was too surprised when the first words that spewed out of his mouth after "good morning" was a big rant about some jerk who was being an aggressive driver and trying to pick a fight with him. Unfortunately, it seems that everyone wants to pick a fight with RM.

So while he grouched about people in this city to J n’ I, I couldn't help shut him out, and allow my wandering eyes to gaze at more charming things -- such as the sweet lil' Chickadee who sat singing from his metal perch beneath the awning of a boarded-up Japanese restaurant... his little Chickadee family had taken residence in a gaping hole caused by an absent brick in the restaurant storefront. Such a proud little bird he was, singing for scone crumbs to the crowd below, as a large group of Asian tourists walked beneath him... some sporting surgical masks over their mouths, and others with large visors covering their faces.

It’s pretty common to see large groups of Asian tourists downtown… especially in the warmer months. There are a few tour buses that come through and park downtown every day... I wonder if they’re just coming in from Vancouver, or if they’ve actually made the trip from overseas?

I finally zone back into the conversation once I was sure that RM had stopped his venting. I mean, he certainly has every right to vent… but he can be a real Debbie Downer sometimes. “This city sucks, this valley sucks, this province sucks… It’s all tough guys and superficial girls.” (Yes, a note to readers: Please consider yourselves warned… you’ll only find tough guys and superficial girls in the province of BC... myself included. Ha!) Anyhow, RM finally managed to mellow out and life was good again. Thank heavens. Sometimes I'm just in too great of a mood to make the time for other people's sour energy.

After a second coffee (this time J went in and made sure I got my medium roast), the three of us decided to take a stroll along the boardwalk. The cool breeze rolled off the lake -- a fresh reminder that even though the sun shines brightly, it’s not quite summer yet. And yet, even so, I couldn't help but notice how a few people had claimed their sunny patches along the empty beach... oh, beach season, I can't wait! But not yet...

As we made our way back up the path, we decided to grab a brunch/lunch. We popped some more money in the parking meter and I found myself singing a song I learned in the fourth grade. "Singing put a penny in the parking meter, put a nickel if you're gonna stay late. Can't you see that it's a violation, and if you don't pay than you will see the magistrate." Funny the things that stay with you? Anyhow, we headed up the street to a cool little lunch place that I really like, but rarely ever get to. It was RM's first time to The Boh and he really seemed to dig it. Just the environment appeared to boost his spirits about the undiscovered little nooks n' crannies that our city has to offer.

"This place is great!" He exclaimed. "See... that's what this city needs! There really should be more places like this in town." I told him that there probably are, he just has to get out and find them.

We ordered our lunch and it was great. The tomato basil soup had a mild kick... it was deliciously chunky and made in house, just like the sandwich bread (not that the bread was chunky… it was just homemade.)

After lunch we did a little more walking around, and then J n' I decided to part ways with RM and head home. Once back at home, we realized that we were still pretty restless… we didn’t feel like doing “the big clean” usually reserved for the weekends. (Cleaning on weekends - whoo! We're such exciting people, aren't we?) I was starting to feel tired being stuck inside, but I don’t like taking naps on the weekend… I like to squeeze as much juice out of my two days off as I can. So instead we decided to go for a stroll along the duck path. I was hoping that the baby ducks would be out by now, but we have yet to see any. The closest thing we saw was a smashed goose egg.

As we stood close to the puddle of fresh yolk, examining the damaged egg, we ended up getting into a conversation with an elderly lady who was wearing a bright blue suit and a Mexican-looking sunhat. Her little scruffy pup stood waiting at her heels. I swear to you 80% of the people along our path own little dogs not unlike hers. Our conversation about the ducks and geese transitioned into the popularity of our nice little path. She told us about how the city wanted to pave the gravel walkway, and how she spoke up against it. Paving the path would make it too slippery in the wintertime, she explained, and it would also encourage skateboarders and rollerbladers to use it, which would make it more dangerous for pedestrians like ourselves, especially with all the blind corners that people could race around. She made a good point, and just as she finished saying so, a couple of bikers sped around the corner, causing the lady to drag her lil’ pup off the path out of their way -- his little feet n’ fuzzy bum leaving a skid mark in the gravel.

After our friendly chat, J n’ I made our way back to the apartment. J suggested how it might be nice to go for a little treat… something sweet. It was "cut day" after all, he rationalized. I don't know if it was the warm weather or simply the power of suggestion, but I gave in easier than usual. We got back in the car and headed to DQ where we were met with a huge line up from the drive through window all the way into the street, which blocked the entrance to the parking lot. I guess the collective conscience of the city was also screaming for ice cream. When we were finally able to reach the parking lot, we went ahead inside and “challenged” ourselves to order something we normally wouldn’t. Generally a small Cherry Cheesequake Blizzard is always my favourite standby, so instead this time I got a Reese Peanut Butter Cup Blizzard. I seriously don’t recommend it. Not that it was gawd-awful… it just certainly was no Cherry Cheesequake. J normally gets a Peanut Buster Parfait and so this time he got a Skor Blizzard, which was actually quite tasty. I wish I had’ve asked for a Skor Blizzard too… and not the gross peanut butter cup kind. Blegh.

We filled our bellies with ice creamy goodness and then headed home where we cozied up on the couch and spent the rest of our evening watching Three’s Company on DVD. After a few episodes, we took our baths, watched some X-Files on DVD, and then went to bed relatively early.

All in all, I have to say that from beginning to end it was a perfect day spent doing absolutely nothing. (Well, nothing productive anyway...)