Sunday Morning

The sun is shining. Funny, the weather forecasters were beating the snow-mixed-with-rain drum just yesterday. After this unusually cold and long winter in the Pacific Northwest, I feel like they can’t stop themselves from predicting snow. Well, the sun works for me. I was up before 7 AM. Still cozy under a blanket with a Mason jar filled with Starbucks Cafe Verona, but entertaining thoughts about puttering around in the yard later this afternoon.

Sunday morning is the best morning of the week. Even throughout all those years I worked Sundays, I enjoyed the quiet journey to work in the morning. Now that I am on a regular person schedule, I cherish my Sunday morning lazy time and solitude. On rainy days, the morning extends into the afternoon. Whatever the weather, it’s a time for me to rest, rejuvenate, and write. My life has been go, go, go lately, not always in a good way. Making time for writing is so important to me. One of these days I’ll be able to devote the time I need, maybe when I retire. Or in my next life. On Sunday mornings, I get to play writer and it suits me to a tee.

In the serenity of Sunday, my mind often wanders back along the road of life. Sunday mornings as a wee one meant sleeping in and pancakes or waffles prepared in the sturdy waffle maker. My mom would pour the maple syrup from the Mrs. Butterworth’s bottle (you remember the one) into a tiny glass pitcher, and heat the syrup on the stove. I’m sure that little pitcher was a wedding gift from the mid-60s. No one heats their syrup these days. After waffle time, we would turn on the Top 40 tunes, start laundry, and delve into homework.

Sunday mornings during my twentysomething years often meant waking up with a sense of regret, and a monster hangover, or waking up next to the love of my life, the latest one at least. Saturday night does precede Sunday morning after all. Nothing like falling in love, and having it stick around from Saturday into Sunday when you are twenty-six. How did I have the energy? I was less concerned with coziness back then. Much more starry-eyed.

Back to this Sunday morning… The clouds are rolling in. Figures. Oh, soon enough blue skies will return to the Northwestern corner of the continent. I hope. Thoughts of puttering in the yard are dissipating. This blanket is pretty soft and warm. The roomie is stirring. Must make the most of my waning moments of quiet solitude. Loads of laundry await. All those worker bee clothes. Sigh. I’ll write in between trips to the basement to endlessly restart the dryer. I downloaded a Kindle book last night – The Bookseller. Reading with a cup of Moroccan Mint tea in the afternoon sounds nice.

Wait a minute – the clock says it’s only 8:24 AM. I still have a lot of time to enjoy this Sunday morning. Slow down, burn some Sandalwood incense, ease into whatever lies ahead.


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