I am grateful for Sunday mornings, for the calm, for coffee and the newspaper on Sunday mornings. The problem is The Chronicle Herald recently quit publishing Sunday papers in an attempt to save money. I would have told them, had they asked, to quit Monday or Wednesday, but quitting Sunday papers is madness, sheer lunacy.
So I save the Saturday paper for Sundays. I must confess though: I don’t actually read the paper. There, I’ve said it. Turns out I’m a bit of a fraud. I scan the newspaper for positive stories, enlightening stories. I don’t care for the train wrecks or weather related deaths or who is swindling whom. I love the crossword, the ones where the answers come without too much brain cramping and I feel brilliant, chuffed up by my own intellect (or lack thereof).
Sunday mornings are different from other mornings. I waken slowly and steal from my bed like I’ve been given a stay of execution. I whisper shhhh to the dog and the pony and I tend to creep when I walk, like I’m a cat burglar and I might even shuffle, though I try not to.
I eat slower on Sunday mornings; I actually put my spoon or fork down while I chew. I sip my coffee and I often finish the cup whereas on weekdays that never happens. Every other day I eat like it is my last meal and someone is going to take it away if I dawdle. But not on Sundays, well not on Sunday mornings. As the day wears on my habits of haste sometimes return.
I am grateful for summer Sunday mornings most of all, when the air is warm but fresh, not yet baked by the sun, not yet spoiled with heat. I am grateful for the Sunday morning breeze that creeps in my window and wrestles with my hair while I sit at my desk trying to conjure up what I am grateful for.
Happy Sunday to you!