Extended Weekend Quotes

When you're single, your weekend days are wide-open vistas that extend in every direction; in a relationship, they're like the sky over Manhattan: punctured, hemmed in, compressed.

And that’s what we’re truly longing for. On those weekends when we’re suddenly gripped with the urge to watch all three extended editions of The Lord of the Rings, what we really want, deep down inside (besides therapy), is the assurance that there is a realm someplace where evil has been conquered once and for all.

I’m going to lie this one right on the line, right here, right now: I’m pro big pants. Strident feminism NEEDS big pants. Really big. I’m currently wearing a pair that could have been used as a fire blanket to put out the Great Fire of London at any point during the first 48 hours or so. They extend from the top of my thigh to my belly button, and effectively double up as a second property that I can escape to at weekends. If I were going to run for parliament, it would be solely on a platform of ‘Get Women In Massive Grundie’s’.

He got into the tub and ran a little cold water. Then he lowered his thin, hairy body into the just-right warmth and stared at the interstices between the tiles. Sadness--he had experienced that emotion ten thousand times. As exhalation is to inhalation, he thought of it as the return from each thrust of happiness. Lazily soaping himself, he gave examples. When he was five and Irwin eight, their father had breezed into town with a snowstorm and come to see them where they lived with their grandparents in the small Connecticut city. Their father had been a vagabond salesman and was considered a bum by people who should know. But he had come into the closed, heated house with all the gimcrack and untouchable junk behind glass and he had smelled of cold air and had had snow in his curly black hair. He had raved about the world he lived in, while the old people, his father and mother, had clucked sadly in the shadows. And then he had wakened the boys in the night and forced them out into the yard to worship the swirling wet flakes, to dance around with their hands joined, shrieking at the snow-laden branches. Later, they had gone in to sleep with hearts slowly returning to bearable beatings. Great flowering things had opened and closed in Norman's head, and the resonance of the wild man's voice had squeezed a sweet, tart juice through his heart. But then he had wakened to a gray day with his father gone and the world walking gingerly over the somber crust of dead-looking snow. It had taken him some time to get back to his usual equanimity. He slid down in the warm, foamy water until just his face and his knobby white knees were exposed. Once he had read Wuthering Heights over a weekend and gone to school susceptible to any heroine, only to have the girl who sat in front of him, whom he had admired for some months, emit a loud fart which had murdered him in a small way and kept him from speaking a word to anyone the whole week following. He had laughed at a very funny joke about a Negro when Irwin told it at a party, and then the following day had seen some white men lightly kicking a Negro man in the pants, and temporarily he had questioned laughter altogether. He had gone to several universities with the vague exaltation of Old Man Axelrod and had found only curves and credits. He had become drunk on the idea of God and found only theology. He had risen several times on the subtle and powerful wings of lust, expectant of magnificence, achieving only discharge. A few times he had extended friendship with palpitating hope, only to find that no one quite knew what he had in mind. His solitude now was the result of his metabolism, that constant breathing in of joy and exhalation of sadness. He had come to take shallower breaths, and the two had become mercifully mixed into melancholy contentment. He wondered how pain would breach that low-level strength. "I'm a small man of definite limitations," he declared to himself, and relaxed in the admission.

your weather like?” “A little snow, I think. We have a few inches already.” Julie knew that ‘a little snow’ to her aunt might well be enough to put the entire northeast into a state of emergency. Aunt Gwen was pushing hard for Julie to make it out to Vermont this year, and had extended an open invitation for the long weekend. It was a solid three-hour drive in good weather, and this was anything but. “I don’t know. Let me run and see what progress I can make on this mess. I’ll give you a call in a couple of hours,” she said, instantly regretting that she hadn’t simply said no. “Alright, Jules. Best of luck. I can’t wait to see you.” Julie cringed into the receiver. “Bye, Gwen.

Liberals: Liberty-loving liberals founded our country and enshrined its freedoms. Dedicated, fair-minded liberals ended slavery and brought women the vote. Hardworking liberals fought the goon squads and won workers’ rights: the eight-hour day, the weekend, health plans, and pensions. Courageous liberals risked their lives to win civil rights. Caring liberals have made the vulnerable elderly secure with Social Security and healthy with Medicare. Forward-looking liberals have extended education to everyone. Liberals who love the land have been preserving our environment so you can enjoy it. Nobody loves liberty and life more than a liberal. When conservatives say you’re on your own, we liberals know we’re all in this together. “Liberal

Daniel.” Luce gripped his shoulder. “What about the library you took me to? Remember?” She closed her eyes. She wasn’t thinking so much as feeling her way through a memory buried shallowly in her brain. “We came to Vienna for the weekend…I don’t remember when, but we went to see Mozart conduct The Magic Flute…at the Theater an der Wien? You wanted to see this friend of yours who worked at some old library, his name was-“ She broke off, because when she opened her eyes, the others were staring at her, incredulous. No one, least of all Luce, had expected her to be the one to know where they would find the desideratum. Daniel recovered first. He flashed her a funny smile Luce knew was full of pride. But Arriane, Roland, and Annabelle continued to gape at her as if they’d suddenly learned she spoke Chinese. Which, come to think of it, she did. Arriane wiggled a finger around inside her ear. “Do I need to ease up on the psychedelics, did LP just recall one of her past lives unprompted at the most crucial juncture ever?” “You’re a genius,” Daniel said, leaning forward and kissing her deeply. Luce blushed and leaned in to extend the kiss a little longer, but then heard a cough. “Seriously, you two,” Annabelle said. “There will be time enough for snogs if we pull this off.” “I’d say ‘get a room’ but I’m afraid we’d never see you again,” Arriane added, which caused them all to laugh. When Luce opened her eyes, Daniel had spread his wings wide. The tips brushed away broken bits of plaster and blocked the Scale angels from view. Slung over his shoulder was the black leather satchel with the halo. The Outcasts gathered the scattered starshots back into their silver sheaths. “Wingspeed, Daniel Grigori.” “To you as well.” Daniel nodded at Phil. He spun Luce around so her back was pressed to his chest and his arms fit snugly around her waist. They clasped hands over her heart. “The Foundation Library,” Daniel said to the other angels. “Follow me, I know exactly where it is.

But before my eyes, in a matter of a few short months, sushi had metamorphosed into steak, and nightclubs had changed into the front porch of Marlboro Man’s quiet house in the country. I hadn’t felt the reverb of a thumping club beat in months and months. My nervous system had never known such calm. That is, until Marlboro Man called one morning that August with his simple request: “My cousin Kim is getting married next weekend,” he said. “Can you come?” An uncomfortable wave washed over my body. “You there?” he asked. I’d paused longer than I’d intended. “Yeah…I’m here,” I replied. “But, um…will I…will I have to meet anyone?” Marlboro Man laughed. The answer, obviously, was yes. Yes, I’d have to meet “anyone.” In fact, I’d have to meet everyone: everyone in his extended family of cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and friends; and his family, by all accounts, was large. We’d talked about our families before, and he knew good and well that I had all of three cousins. Three. He, on the other hand, had fifty. He knew how intimidating a family wedding would be to an outsider, especially when the family is as large as his. He knew this would be way out of my comfort zone. And he was right.

Once back in Castine, I knew that I had to get serious. I was lucky that studying came easy for me. Perhaps in a way I should have seen it as a curse, since I could grasp what was required of me without too much effort. Although I had to study, I still always had time to fool around. During the final weeks I pored over my books, but on weekends when my classmates continued to study, I hitchhiked to Portland. Ann knew that graduation was near and mentioned that she wanted to go to New York, where we could remain closer to each other after graduation. It sounded good, but I reminded her that I would be going to sea and that it could be with almost any shipping company, and for extended periods of time. I had no idea where in the world I would be going and to me it didn’t really matter. We decided that after taking my Coast Guard Exams, we would take a bus to New York City and she could stay in a room at the YWCA near Journal Square.

having specific things to look forward to massively increases your enjoyment of them. “It extends the experience,” says Cassie Mogilner, a professor of marketing at the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School, who specializes in happiness research. “The whole time you’re looking forward to it and anticipating it, you’re getting some of the benefits of the experience itself.” This is one of the reasons why people love vacation travel. You generally have to figure it out at least a few days ahead of time. Indeed, research published in the journal Applied Research in Quality of Life in 2010 found that vacation anticipation boosted happiness levels for eight weeks—an argument for planning more shorter trips rather than a few longer ones. Plan a four-day weekend every other month and the happiness boost could last all year. I know this anticipation factor is why I always have great birthday weeks. Not only do I think ahead of time about what I’d like to do—meeting up with friends, taking the kids somewhere fun, getting a massage—I plan these activities in advance and then enjoy seeing them on my calendar, knowing that tickets are purchased and babysitters are booked.

Whether it was “consciousness expansion” or “intelligence amplification,” something was afoot in Northern California at the beginning of the 1960s that would be instrumental in both the creation of the sixties counterculture and, in the 1970s, the formation of Silicon Valley. The spectrum extended from the spiritual, mystical, and chemical—“instant mystic”—paths to mind expansion, to the pragmatic access-to-tools philosophy that Brand pioneered in the Whole Earth Catalog and that would be best expressed by Steve Jobs in the 1980s when he described the personal computer as a “bicycle for the mind.” Brand’s Big Sur weekend would point him in a radical new direction, a path that ultimately contributed not only to the emergence of the counterculture in Northern California but also to the birth of a new environmental movement.

There is something to be said about family traditions. Especially in the Kincaid family. We take our traditions very seriously. This one, however, is one I never miss. Once a year, my dad takes my eight brothers and me—yes, you read that right. I have eight brothers—camping and fishing for an extended weekend. We leave my mom, who is also the only female in our house, on her own to do… well, whatever it is women do when they have the house to themselves. We take to the country and live our best lives. We don’t worry about saying “excuse me” when we pass gas or belch, and we don’t have to worry about Mom asking us if we washed behind our ears

We spent the day at the house with the architect, the engineer, the landscapers. I am very excited about the prospect of creating a home where we can spend time together as a family, where friends and extended family can come for long weekends, where I can build an art studio and an auxiliary kitchen in which to film a cooking show that has been percolating in my hungry mind for a while now, where we can plant a vegetable garden and a small orchard and put the benefits of them to good use every season, where my daughters, or sons, can get married, where Felicity can bring her lover(s), where my proctologist(s) can visit, and where our grandchildren can spend time with their cousins for years to come when I am no longer here.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank my children, Bindi and Robert, for patiently supporting me while I spent many evenings and weekends writing this book (or as Robert used to say, “Mum is doing her schoolwork.”). Thanks also to those who helped entertain, feed, bathe, and wrangle my kids while I wrote (it does take a village!): Barry and Shelley Lyon, Emma Schell, Jeanette Covacevich, John and Bonnie Marineau, Brian and Sherri Marineau, April Harvie, Brian and Kate Coulter, Thelma Engle. A special thank-you to my dear friend John Edward. If it wasn’t for you, this book would never have been written. Thanks to my precious friends and family, who were my sounding boards: Wes Mannion, Frank and Joy Muscillo, John Stainton, Judi Bailey, Craig Franklin, Bob Irwin. A huge thank-you to Kate Schell, who helped me assemble my first draft--there were 250,000 words of stories that made us laugh and cry. You took the journey with me. I would also like to thank Gil Reavill, for taking nine hundred pages and helping me choose which stories to keep for the final draft. Natasha Stoynoff, you were ready to help as a collaborator. I hope we actually get to work together one day.And to Ursula Cary, thank you for flying all the way to Australia to help me catch crocs for research and make those final edits. I’d like to extend a big thank-you to all the interesting people who helped to shape our lives and are included in the pages of this book. And finally, a huge thank-you to my husband, Steve. You are now the angel leaning over my shoulder, whispering in my ear that I can do anything--you always believed in me.

By May 1948, I had to renew the Romanian passport in order to extend the student visa. That matter was complicated. If I applied for an extension and was refused - I would have no more passport and would be stateless. Through friends in Bucharest, I got a recommendation to the Romanian cultural attaché in Washington. He was Jewish and somebody that I knew was acquainted with him. The connection was established. Uncle Max and his wife Marge drove me to Washington on a Friday morning, the fourth of May. We were supposed to remain there over the week-end and return Monday.

Another source of stress and disappointment is the expectation that the workplace is an extended family. People want their jobs to provide a sense of belonging, to feel they’re taken care of, to bond with colleagues. But they’re looking for things the company can’t supply. They should keep the company role in perspective. The first expectation to kill is that big families are fun and supportive. Romantic, but untrue. Anyone with a big family can tell you there are always people they don’t like among their own relatives.

The second error is the assumption that business or the work environment is the only tribal affiliation people have. By sheer proximity, the workplace tribe may seem to dwarf all the others, but anyone who works at home will find they actually belong to four or five major tribes—starting with the family and extending outward to the neighborhood, the garden club, library volunteers, church, and the like.

One of the largest obstacles to true Sabbath-keeping is leisure. It is what cultural historian Witold Rybczynski calls “waiting for the weekend,” where we see work as only an extended interlude between our real lives. Leisure is what Sabbath becomes when we no longer know how to sanctify time. Leisure is Sabbath bereft of the sacred. It is a vacation—literally, a vacating, an evacuation. As Rybczynski sees it, leisure has become despotic in our age, enslaving us and exhausting us, demanding from us more than it gives.2

So winning requires more than the promise of survival. It must offer an idea of such power and appeal that people will, at times, neglect their other responsibilities and work nights and weekends and extend trips to make it happen.

In Michigan as everywhere else in the country, Americans increasingly used cars for weekend or extended holiday travel as well as day-to-day work- or errand-related driving. “Gypsying” was an early, popular term for such outings. Participants were known as “vacationists,” or, if extended trips involved pitching tents at night, “autocampers.

The 15-layer was already spoken for, of course, in its capacity as the sympathy group. The 5-layer seemed to function as the support clique – the small group of people willing to provide unstinting emotional, physical and financial help and advice. I often refer to this layer as the shoulders-to-cry-on friends. The 15-layer is probably where you draw most of your everyday social companions from – the people you invite round for a quiet dinner or an evening out at the pub or theatre. I am inclined to think of the 50-layer as your party friends: the people you would invite round for a weekend BBQ or a celebratory birthday or anniversary party. The 150-layer is what you might call the wedding/bar mitzvah/funeral group – the people that would turn up to your once-in-a-lifetime events. It also probably contains most of the children of your closer friends. Otherwise, our women’s network data suggest that this layer is mainly populated by members of your extended family – people whose friendship does not need much regular reinforcement because it is held in place by the ties of kinship.

Gabrielle, my dear, my sweet, my flower, I, the King of Romance, have come for you!” The person who had appeared was wearing a white tuxedo that was different from everyone else’s plaid pants and blazer combination. He had bright blond hair that was slicked back. His eyes were blue. Gabrielle had seen him numerous times already, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember his name. The blond man walked up the stairs toward her, his hand extended in a grand gesture. “My love, you are the only one whose beauty can captivate me so. Please, allow me, the King of Love, the sweep you off your feet!” The blond knelt before Gabrielle and took her hand in his. He stared into her eyes. Why was he staring into her eyes so hard? It looked like he was trying to drill holes through her with his gaze. Creepy. Gabrielle responded to this man the same way she had done every time he appeared. “Who are you again?” The reaction around the room was instant. The whole class burst out laughing. Ryoko and Serah were the worst perpetrators, bent over the table and howling with laughter as they were, but even Kazekiri was snickering into her hand while trying to look stern. Gabrielle just smiled. She didn’t really know what was so funny. “W-why is it that you can never remember my name?” The blond cried out. “I’m Jameson de Truante, the most handsome man in this entire school. I am so handsome that people often call me the King of Good Looks.” “Hmm…” Gabrielle crossed her arms. That’s right. This boy was Jasmine’s older brother, wasn’t he? She remembered now. However… “I’m sorry, but you’re nowhere near as handsome as Alex.” “Hurk!” Jameson jerked backwards as though he’d been shot through the heart with something, though all this did was cause him to lose his balance. With a loud squawk that reminded her of an Angelisian parocetian (a lizard found on Angelisia that sounded like a parrot), he rolled down the stairs, bounced along the floor, and hit the stage with a harsh thud. And there he lay, insensate to the world around him. “Oh! That was rich!” Ryoko continued to laugh. “He keeps… keeps making passes at you… and you… you can’t even remember his name!! Bwa-ha-ha-ha!” “Serves the jerk right,” Serah added. Kazekiri sighed. “I normally would not approve of such behavior, but Jameson has always been a problem child, so I will let this slide once.” “Um, thank you?” Gabrielle said, not quite sure if she should be grateful or not. “Don’t worry,” Selene said upon seeing her confused look. “You might not understand right now, but you did a very good thing.” “Oh.” Gabrielle paused, and then beamed brightly at her friend. “Okay!” Class eventually settled down, though Jameson remained lying on the floor. Students chatted about this and that. Gabrielle engaged in her own conversation with her friends, discussing the possibility of going to sing karaoke this weekend. Of course, she invited Kazekiri to come as well, to which the young woman replied that she would think about it. Gabrielle hoped that meant she would come. It wasn’t long before the students were forced to settle down as their teacher came in and barked at them. Their homeroom teacher, a stern-looking man with neatly combed gray hair named Mr. Sanchez, took one look at Jameson, sighed, and then said, “Does anyone want to explain why Mr. Truante is lying unconscious on the floor?

Even if the coffers hadn’t been empty, if we’d had all the money to make all the uniforms we needed to implement Phase Two, who do you think we could have conned into filling them? This goes to the heart of America’s war weariness. As if the “traditional” horrors weren’t bad enough—the dead, the disfigured, the psychologically destroyed—now you had a whole new breed of difficulties, “The Betrayed.” We were a volunteer army, and look what happened to our volunteers. How many stories do you remember about some soldier who had his term of service extended, or some exreservist who, after ten years of civilian life, suddenly found himself recalled into active duty? How many weekend warriors lost their jobs or houses? How many came back to ruined lives, or, worse, didn’t come back at all? Americans are an honest people, we expect a fair deal. I know that a lot of other cultures used to think that was naïve and even childish, but it’s one of our most sacred principles. To see Uncle Sam going back on his word, revoking people’s private lives, revoking their freedom… After Vietnam, when I was a young platoon leader in West Germany, we’d had to institute an incentives program just to keep our soldiers from going AWOL. After this last war, no amount of incentives could fill our depleted ranks, no payment bonuses or term reductions, or online recruiting tools disguised as civilian video games.17 This generation had had enough, and that’s why when the undead began to devour our country, we were almost too weak and vulnerable to stop them. I’m not blaming the civilian leadership and I’m not suggesting that we in uniform should be anything but beholden to them. This is our system and it’s the best in the world. But it must be protected, and defended, and it must never again be so abused.

People who share last names tend to be related and get together more often for meals and are less guarded about eating off one another’s plates and exchanging germs. This creates pockets of infection over weekends that soon extend to schools and work. The presence of convention centers added to the calculation.

We preach so that people will be better worshippers, so that the nature and story of God proclaimed will result in an amplification of what provokes glory to come down. A church’s ministry extends, of course, beyond the weekend worship service, but if we fail there, nothing else can succeed. That single service in a Vertical Church is like the wood-burning furnace in a factory or warehouse.

14. What role will our extended families play in our lives? How close are you with your family? How do you treat them, and what does this mean about how you will treat me? How often would you like to see your parents and/or siblings? Would you like to live near them? How will we spend holidays: with your family, my family, neither, both, or some combination? What family traditions did you grow up with that you would like to continue? How might these things change once we have kids? Who comes first: our nuclear family or our extended families? 15. How will we handle problems? What should we do when we don’t agree? What sort of conflict resolution do you want to model for kids? How do you respond when you don’t get your way? If one of us is unhappy in our marriage, what should we do about it? Would you be willing to go to counseling? What do you think of divorce as an option and why? 16. How will we keep our relationship alive over the long run? How will we notice—and cultivate—the good things? How should we make time for us? A weekly date or a monthly weekend getaway or a yearly vacation or some combination? What will we do when we notice these things not happening or when money and time are tight? 17. What does your future look like? Where do you see yourself five, ten, or twenty years from now? Is your future self compatible with my future self?

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