Wonderful Sunday Morning

Such simple things

Rick brings me my bowl of tea to drink in bed.

Outside it's pouring. The rain starts in Barcelona and runs up to France. Its beat on the Velux makes us speak louder to be heard. Sometimes it sounds like feet marching, other times its almost musical in an Edinburgh tattoo kind of way without the bagpipes.

He hands me a book that has Helen Simpson's short story Doors which if I were still teaching a writing course, I would use as an example. It's the way she handles details, emotions and reels out information that is so brilliant. I'm a person that is intrigued by people in books, movies and reality. Why, why, why do they do as they do. Knowing enriches me as a human never mind a lesson as a writer.

The story motivates me as a writer, a reminder of my craft's details. All this before I'm out of my comfortable bed.

The book is a relief from 100 Years of Palestine History. I'm reading about the Nakba. With each page, I feel anger at all those alleged leaders that destroyed Palestine. A flash of anger at how I was mislead through my life by what appeared in the news. Anger at me, that I accepted what was available instead of digging for the other side of the story.

Much of what is in the book I already know from Arab or Palestinian acquaintances. If I could substitute my wonderful morning to end the Palestinian suffering, I would. I would stop my own birth country's self-destruction. I would end all suffering. 

I know I can only make my little corner of life peaceful and to do that I need to work on my own inner peace, to not forget the beautiful things in the world. 

 

I center myself and look at the painting of the Japanese waterfall on the opposite wall and the wire sculpture of branches with tiny metal birds hidden in the leaves.  It helps.

For the first time since the spring, Rick switches on the electric fire adding a level of coziness. 

Sherlock, who hates rain, indicates how comfortable he is bed. Rick doubting the strength of the dog's sphincter muscles takes him out. When he comes back, he tells me how he carries him to the dog's favorite pee spot. As soon as Sherlock's feet touch the ground he runs home. He lets Rick dry him with his green towel.

Time to officially start the day. The towel warmer is on for the second time since May. The warm towel after my hot shower is pleasant against my wet skin.

Breakfast with my husband is a hodgepodge of things including fresh melon. We eat in front of the TV. A cooking show with a Polish chef has fresh fruit and what he does with it. I only wish I could taste it. The melon season is almost over. Clementines are in and soon kakis will appear. 

We discuss the stabbed pilot. We often discuss world affairs as well as our own projects.  

What will the rest of the day be like?

I need to iron. Yes iron. I love the feeling of smooth cloth against my body. I use cloth napkins that are just nicer ironed.We will watch the Sunday shows. Plans to hear a friend's music at the Cave will probably not happen because of the prediction of rain continuation. There's reading. There's Netflix. There's just the pleasure of being with my boys, those with four feet and those with two.

There's listening to the music of the rain.