all things sunday
8 August 1999

I would bet that Mike still hates Sundays simply because of their inevitable segue into the nightmares that Mondays bring. I was thinking about his distaste for all things Sunday this morning when I awoke to thick shades of gray and an unlikely quiet.

Wrapped in an airy cotton quilt, my first bit of consciousness asked what season it is, something I tend to never remember when I wake anymore. And then I realized it was Sunday morning. And then I thought of Mike. And much to his likely dismay, I jumped out of bed eager for the calm unfolding that most Sundays bring.

I made myself take a shower and make my bed before retrieving my Sunday Times. Dreaded tasks and their handsome reward. I restarted a Sunday newspaper subscription a few months ago when I suddenly realized that I was relying exclusively on Todd reading the three news briefs in the right column of Yahoo's search engine to me each day to stay informed. My decision to receive The New York Times came about as the resulted combination of John Guare's Six Degrees of Separation and the memory of a late Saturday night/Sunday morning on the Upper East Side with Melanie, Phil, and Chuck discussing a Times Magazine article about artichokes. In other words, the irresistible, glistening cliché of it all.

Sundays are about routines that I never have time for during the week. Hot tea with milk and sugar, even on the hottest summer day. Perfecting my onion, broccoli, and cheddar omelet. Curls allowed to dry naturally while I read. When company stays, it's off to Soundbites for endless cups of coffee and smoothly-whipped, garlic homefries. Afternoon movies at Kendall Square. Moon rises at Castle Island. Star gazing from the Scituate jetty. Sundays are a perfected day of real life before the working week consumes me once more.

My most memorable Sundays are spent in isolation, enjoying warm light on the periphery from where I stand in the shadows. A Sunday that begins in Philadelphia and winds its way through Manhattan before coming home. Or a Sunday like today, that moves from one corner of my apartment to the next: napping, reading, cooking, and writing.

Right now "Sunday" by The Spinanes plays over and over in my mind and on my stereo. I can see the wind gently knocking its way through the plants and trees outside my door. I have an endless list of options, a nonexistent bank account, and a craving for adventure. I toss thoughts and ideas back and forth in my mind, happy for today's freedom and uncertainty. Sundays can do that to a person.

What's on tap for your Sunday?