My favorite sort of Saturday is a mixture of The Beach Boys' Barbara Ann and Chopin's Piano Concerto in E Minor (opus 11).
It's a mixture of the peace and quiet of the freshly swept backyard.
A mixture of sweating over GRE questions, and lounging around in exercise shorts, because no one demands you to wear real clothes on a Saturday.
Not even to Saturday mass.
Even the elderly Park Avenue ladies, who are on the Metropolitan Opera Guild, are wearing yoga pants to mass.
Sitting at the wooden table in the backyard, and pounding away at the keyboard, when you should be working on remembering how to calculate the slope of perpendicular lines.
Everything tastes like pancakes and maple syrup, and you still smell like sweat from your morning run, because you haven't bothered to take a shower yet, between the pancakes and the pencil scratches in your notebook.
There are lazy texts from friends buzzing on your phone; and a phone call to your father in the future.
There are snippets of plays being written, and three books open to where their bookmarks stopped last.
The sunshine is warm, but the sun's oppressive August heat is hidden behind felicitous, fluffy clouds.
A cool breeze floats out of the thin blue sky and rustles leaves down from the great tree.
None of them have turned colors yet--they are still green and living.
The breeze lifts one of them off its branch and it flutters through the backyard and lands on my head.
It is a comfortable moment, in the backyard.
My head is full of quantitative reasoning comparison questions and verbal reasoning reading comprehension questions and my tummy is full of pancakes, and I am quite content.