The Thing About Sundays …

I love Sundays.  Do you love Sundays?  I LOVE Sundays.  It’s all about the coffee.  The newspaper.  The soft and languid pace.  A visceral remembrance of a church pew, scented with wood polish and prayers.  Songs that make you cry.  The Body of Christ.  The Blood of Christ.  Another cup of coffee.  Bacon and eggs, over medium.  Dogs sleeping at your feet.  Brushing against your husband’s hand.  An unhurried smile.

I love Sundays.

Today I went to TV church.  It’s the only way I’ll go to Mass these days.  I can mute the Priest, which sadly feels empowering.  Very sadly so.  I’ll probably go straight to hell for muting a Priest.

Before it got hot, we took Scarlett and Wilson to the doggie park.  You never know what you’re going to get there.  Today’s gang of greeters were large and boisterous.  Butt sniffers, every last one of them.  I managed to make it to the shade in my wheelchair where I was promptly peed on by a Boxer.  Nice.

Afternoon football.

Long-legged dogs stretched out on the floor.

Evening wine.

Tomorrow is Monday and back at it.  Work in the morning, physical therapy in the afternoon.  I’m getting better practicing with my crutches.  I haven’t tipped over yet today.

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