Friday Afternoon

Before I blogged I was a teacher of primary aged children, aged from 5 to 12 years.  It was a job that I really enjoyed, obviously some days more than others! But one of the times I loved most was Friday afternoons.

The bell would ring at half past 3 and the children would be out the door. Somebody once described it ‘like a cork out of a champagne bottle’ and it is such an apt simile. Then the peace would descend. The energy generated by those 25 busy bodies would gradually dissipate, and I would be there in the stillness.

It was a time to potter around the room, tidying up after an active week, cleaning the tables, vaguely reflecting on the day’s happenings and mentally organising the things that needed deeper reflection. One of the tasks I loved to do was to sharpen the pencils, ready for Monday’s diary writing.

I would think about tidying my desk. That was always an impossible task, as there was a never ending supply of paper that needed to be dealt with. But it was Friday Afternoon and the This Should Have Been Done Yesterday pile could wait a while longer. Then I would look at my planning for the following week, pack a few things to take home, turn off the lights and lock the door. Friday Afternoon. Time to wander down to the pub for a few Friday Afternoon Drinks with friends.

I was thinking of that this afternoon. I was folding the washing, looking out the front window at the school over the road and I knew that the teachers over there would be glad that it’s Friday. The day has been sunny and still, peaceful, just right for a Friday Afternoon. So let me tidy up a few things here before I wander into the lounge room for Friday Afternoon Drinks. I might even sit outside with my glass of wine.

My last post was about Dads, and it seemed to resonate with you, stirring up some memories. Thank you for your comments, including those on Facebook. I thought I would copy the poem that the Snail of Happiness shared. It summed up so well what I was stumbling around to say.

A man lives for as long as we carry him inside us,
For as long as we carry the harvest of his dreams,
For as long as we ourselves live,
Holding memories in common, a man lives.
(Brian Patten)

I love that idea of ‘the harvest of his dreams’. I want to believe that I am still harvesting some of my Dad’s dreams.

And the second thing to tidy up is to tell you, very proudly, that I sold the rose painting that I painted in a recent workshop. I showed you its creation, and now it has flown off to the States! Let me boast a little more and say that it was the 90th painting that I have sold in my Etsy shop.

Now, let’s all raise a glass to Friday Afternoons. May they always be peaceful! Cheers!