The other night, back when there was still a wintry chill in the air, I had dinner in a pizza joint out in the sticks. It was good, in an unremarkable sort of way. It was the same sort of unremarkable goodness that distinguished the little breakfast joint across the street, a place I realized I had been to last summer.
When I recognized the one stop light town in which I had spent one of the most pleasant summer Sunday mornings ever, I could almost feel the warmth, smell the lush grass, relive the lazy contentment. A relaxing drive -- not too long but just long enough to make us feel as if we were some place far away, a comfortably filling breakfast of eggs, toast, and coffee in old-fashioned white ceramic cups, and a brief stint in a sunny park working together on a crossword puzzle. Heavenly, in an unremarkable sort of way. Give me that day over a trip around the world any time.
It's not like I'm complaining. Like I said, life is good on a warm and sunny Sunday in April. Everything seems to sparkle -- especially my brand new fridge, which will start spewing clear and non-toxic ice by this afternoon (or so I'm told). I might even go crazy this afternoon and buy some food to fill the clean, sweet smelling shelves. (Ooh, but it looks so pretty without all the clutter.)
This morning, breakfast will be simple and solitary, and the coffee will be my usual Starbucks (although they do offer ceramic mugs upon request). Not the same. I'll have to eventually slog through the Sunday crossword puzzle by myself, and my long enough but not too long drive will be to work. But that's okay. I'll have the top down, the music blaring, and I'll be daydreaming about all the surprising and unremarkable spring and summer Sundays that lie ahead.
Love the optimism. How come, tho, on a day when I would love to laze in bed, it's beautiful and sunny and when I have outside work to do it's cold and rainy?
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