Sunday mornings

Sunday mornings are special even after the end of corporate life means no need to rush to work weekdays. During my lifetime, certain rituals have added to their pleasure.

Wigglesworth Street

A couple and I bought a house in Boston to renovate. We all had demanding jobs. Two of us were doing degrees on top of that. Saturdays were spent on stripping paint, putting down tile, etc. Sunday mornings were a bit of calm.

Bill would go out for The Boston Globe, The New York Times and the National Enquirer. If he had not made bread, he would bring back bagels. The smell of coffee would waft up through the heating grates from the kitchen on the second floor to our third floor bedrooms.

The bedrooms surrounded a small hall and we would eat and read the papers, exchanging newspaper sections as we finished them.

Eventually we would start the day's rennovations or whatever plans we made.

François Lehmann, Geneva

 

I lived alone in a one bedroom flat in walking distance of the UN alphabet agencies. Not alone-alone...on my floor were friends from the UK, India, Syria and other countries.

Some Sunday mornings our Indian neighbors would make their typical breakfast and we would wander down the hallway still in our pajamas and feast.

On Sundays that we stayed in our own places, I would make myself hot chocolate, not with a mix but cubes of chocolate, sit at my kitchen table and look out at the grassy lot and château across the street. 

Some Sundays I'd go to the dispenser and buy the paper feeling smug I'd finally had enough French to read it.

Geneva/Argelès

 

After Rick and I lived together, he began making special Sunday breakfasts, combining both American and Swiss traditions. Bacon and rosti might appear, fresh fruit, bread still warm from the boulangerie or other goodies.

Sometimes we invited friends instead of having them for dinner. Those times there might be a greater selection of fruit and breads.

He was a master at doing scrambled eggs without burning them.

Until recently when it was cancelled, BBC Dateline was a listening must. It featured reporters from different countries discussing the hot topics of the week. 

During Covid they broadcast from the reporters' homes. I loved checking out the books on the shelves in their backgrounds. I especially loved Guardian reporter Polly Toynbee's blue cabinet.

Sundays, even though we are allegedly retired but are still writing almost everyday, are still special. 

There are those mornings in France when we get up to catch the sunrise at Maranda Beach. After the dog does his zoomies, avoiding the water, we stop at the boulangerie for croissants and maybe a chocolate something to have with tea as we watch the Sunday shows in the afternoon.

In Geneva we might stay in bed just that much longer if the dog isn't in a rush to check out the fields and forest near our village.

Sunday mornings -- I love them.