I am not a morning person. Correction, I am not an early morning person. As such, early Sunday mornings present me with a serious challenge–getting to church on time.
I can identify with DirecTV’s “Peyton on Sunday Morning” commercials in which retired quarterback Peyton Manning dressed in his robe, PJs, and slippers, is lounging around and even grocery shopping on Sunday morning.
I literally have to drag myself out of bed on Sundays when that inconsiderate alarm interrupts my sleep at 6:45 a.m. I’d throw it against the wall if not for the fact that Siri set the alarm on my iPhone. I use my iPhone as an alarm now because my alarm clock…oh, let’s just say it took a licking and is no longer ticking.
I stagger to the master bath and try to accelerate the waking process by splashing my face with cold water. Sometimes it works. If it doesn’t, I clean up on automatic pilot. The moment I step out of the shower is when panic sets in. The clock radio in the master bath tells me I have barely enough time to dry my hair, dress, and then eat a bite of breakfast as I’m walking out the door to the car where Macho Guy sits behind the wheel rather heavily laying his hand on the horn. Believe it or not, we make it to church just in time, no thanks to me. The panic immediately subsides, and I let out a sigh of relief.
Once we’re home again, the chilling begins in earnest. MG makes a mug of French Roast Coffee and I brew a cup of Darjeeling Tea. We carry them into the living room where MG kicks back in his recliner and I curl up on the couch in preparation for the morning’s main event–reading the Sunday paper. It’s a ritual we both look forward to every week.
MG got tired of squinting at the paper’s shrinking font size and so he reads the paper on his iPad now where he can adjust the font size. I haven’t been able to bring myself to make that leap to date. I enjoy surrounding myself with the newspaper sections in separate piles, the tactile feel of the newsprint and its distinctive aroma, the crunchy, crackly sound it makes when I turn the page and fold it over, and the ink that rubs off onto my fingertips making them feel smooth and slippery.
I turn on some soothing instrumental music, toe off my shoes, put my feet up on the coffee table, and take my first sip of tea. Ahhhhh. The good life.
I reach for the comics section. Oh, yes. Comics first, always. I’m still feeling upbeat from church, and I want to stay that way for a while at least. My favs are Dilbert, Garfield, and Peanuts. Dilbert so reminds me of the perverse lunacy of my time working at an advertising agency.
A few more sips of tea and I peruse the Lifestyle section with its book, theater, TV, and movie reviews. I check to see if any of my favorite authors have new titles out, and I pore over all the reviews in the hope of finding something appealing to read or view. I take a quick glance at the fashion page with celebrities and supermodels posing in outrageously garish styles that scream my designer was on drugs. I cringe and turn the page quickly.
The puzzle page is up next. It’s my very favorite page. I take a big gulp of tea and tackle the crossword and sudoku. I’m addicted to both and relish the challenge.
Well, now only the actual news is left to read. Fun’s over.
My tea has cooled so I slip into the kitchen to nuke it before delving into the local, state, national and world news, and the editorial page. The reason I save these sections for last is that if I read these unpleasant pages first, they would put me in such a rotten mood that I would not be able to enjoy the pleasant pages. I take another big gulp of tea and read about the mess our “leaders” have made of the world we live in, and I can feel my blood pressure rising.
MG’s stomach signals that our newspaper ritual time is up. He’s starving, poor baby. We head into the kitchen to whip up something yummy for brunch–sandwiches of sliced hard cooked eggs and garden fresh tomatoes, with mayo on whole wheat toast, and fresh fruit on the side. Between bites we hash over the slanted news reporting of the day, and how we could do a much better and more impartial job of reporting the news if we were blindfolded and with both hands tied behind our backs.
Afterward, MG falls asleep in his recliner and snores through the final round of the televised golf tournament of the week. I curl back up on the couch with my iPad and chill out writing my next Serious Whimsy blog post.
Ahhhh. It’s just another Sunday with nothing pressing to do but chill out all day long–and write. Life is good.