Sunday Morning Ramblings

As a teenager, Sunday mornings meant waking up to the sound of my father’s classical music and the smell of his egg omelets cooking in the iron skillet; omelets full of fresh green peppers, onions, mushrooms and cheese. I did not appreciate either of his Sunday morning rituals until I was older. As an adult, I think about my own Sunday morning rituals. I think about how different I thought being an adult would somehow be than what it has turned out to be. As a child, I had no experiential memory to understand any of the stresses my parents faced and only saw the surface layer: eggs and Sunday drives in the mountains. What has dawned on me this morning is how my favorite Sunday mornings for the past couple of years are having a spinach and shrimp omelet at the Newport Beach Brewery in CA and then taking a day-long walk on the beach which is my equivalent to my dad's Sunday drives in the mountains. Now, I get it! It has taken me over 25 years, but now I have a minor understanding of why my dad insisted on his own Sunday traditions.

When I am not at the beach, Sunday mornings of recent years mean that I can usually sneak in a couple of hours of my own writing before the family is up. I get up first; as our dogs stir and stretch I hear them from my lightening sleep until I feel Maddie’s wet, black nose at my arm. I open my eyes to see her brown eyes at eye level as if to silently ask, “Are you ready to feed me yet?”

I move slowly out of bed giving my muscles a chance to warm up as I notice that the run from yesterday has settled in my feet. I pop my thyroid medication in my mouth and check the clock so that I will know when I can drink my coffee. I have this untested hypothesis that I should wait at least 30 minutes before drinking my morning coffee to allow the hormone to activate. I find my glasses and mentally check how blurry my vision is in my left eye this morning; not too bad this morning. As I walk down the short upstairs hallway, I notice how brightly the sunlight streams into K’s empty room. The labs bound down the stairs to the back sliding door ready to check to see if their buddy, the morning squirrel, is out yet.

While the dogs are outside, I check my phone to see if K has texted and announced that she has arrived safely back at her dorm room. Her spring break is over and she flew back to Boston last night on the red-eye. Her text was sent at 5 am my time which with quick math tells me that she was in her room by 7 am. Good; she can get in a nap before her afternoon drill team practice, I think as a mother. I smile that she has told me that she loves me and I note that I never grow tired of hearing those words from her -- her words make the start to my day. We had such a wonderful visit that it was hard to let her go back last night, even though I know it is the right thing to do; and it is for the best.

This morning I sit at the dining room table writing. The hours dissolve into one another and often before I am ready, it is time to start the day and get moving. I can't spend the whole day writing, can I? (Smile.) Today we are driving down to Denver for a family lunch to celebrate my grandmother's 88th birthday. D comes down the stairs after I have been writing for an hour and a half. He does not stop to greet me this morning. He is on a mission. He didn’t get to play his Sims game last night since we had to take K to the airport so he wants to have his ownself time before we insist on getting his morning chores done.

I think back to last night as D and I watch M and K go through security. M can take K to the gate as an airline employee, and the time gives them a chance to talk while he waits for her plane to board. As they head down the stairs to the trains, D and I wave to them from the viewing window. We are laughing at how smart we think we are to remember the viewing window while K just shakes her head at us as if we are being some silly aliens. Then, D and I head to the airport food court to hang-out with onion rings and Dr. Pepper (his choice). I amuse myself by watching the people walk by and checking what other folks buy for food at 11 pm. I tell myself not to eat just because I am missing K. I remind myself that she will be home for a summer break in just 8 weeks. And as I have learned from the last 8 weeks, a lot can happen while waiting for her to come home....