Ordinary Sunday

Here it is Sunday morning. 

I'm sitting here waiting for inspiration to whomp me up-side the head.  I've got nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  So.

                                                           Sunday

Funny, isn't it?  You never know when you open your eyes whether a Sunday morning is going to be ordinary or not. 

You stretch, leisurely pet your dogs and linger under the warm blankets before getting out of bed.  (So far, so good.)  Thanks to the automatic timer, the coffee is hot and ready to pour.  You feed your hungry four legged children and head for a bath.

The bubbles smell like lilacs, you submerge yourself up to your armpits in the 'pink skin' hot water, sip coffee and let your mind wander. 

How is your husband feeling?  He had felt poorly all week and had not wanted to go to work last night, even called the company to see if they could find a replacement to take his place as a night security guard.  They could not, and you watch him, with worry, take his lunch and walk out the door. 

You're grateful he'll be home in a few hours, around noon.

You step out of the tub and begin your morning ritual, make-up, dressing, walking to the curb to get the paper.  You separate the paper just the way your husband would.  Stack of advertisements and coupons, comics and inserts, and the newspaper itself.  (Everything is copasetic.)

Then you busy yourself getting a second cup of coffee and head for your office.  There is always e-mail to answer, there are some birthday cards to make. Oh, and Christmas cards, should you make one, or buy this year? 

After a bit, the comics call and you head for the living room, re-light the wood burning stove, curl up on the sofa with your furry friends and relax.  You glance at the clock, it's almost 11, in an hour or so your husband will be home.  You hope he's feeling better.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, your phone rings...and even before you answer it...you know...you sense something is amiss.  It's your husband's boss.  Her voice is warm---friendly---but, strained---tense.  Odd, she had never called before...suddenly you know, this is not going to be an ordinary Sunday.

November 2002