Every day has its own ritual, and Sunday is no exception. For starters, Earl and I don’t program our clock radio to wake us at 6:30 AM; instead we get up when we feel like it. So far we’ve managed to feel like it before noon. Way before noon.
Then we have coffee while Earl reads esoteric sayings aloud from people like Thoreau, Archimedes, Nightingale. These sayings are in his daily planner and accumulate during the week; so when we get to study them, they’ve stacked up. Earl’s entitled to share three at one time. Otherwise, we’d be having coffee until mid-afternoon.
Next we jump in the car and drive in search of the Sunday Chicago Tribune. If we’re early enough, we only have to go as far as the gas station, three miles up the road. But if we have dallied over coffee or sayings, then we have to check out Walgreen’s, the local supermarket, or some other roadside stand to get news of the Windy City.
It’s not that we’re snobbish about big city newspapers; in fact, we also get the local paper delivered to our mailbox every single day. But the Sunday Chicago Tribune offers a lot in the way of features, in-depth analysis, and connections to our former home that the St. Joseph Herald Palladium cannot.
The rest of Sunday is determined by sports. If the Bears are playing, then Earl glues himself to the TV in early afternoon. If they are not playing, then we’re apt to do something. Visit model homes, maybe take in a movie, walk on the beach. That is, until early evening, when Earl wants to be home for “Sixty Minutes.”
We have dinner somewhere in there. It’s nothing scheduled and often nothing fancy. Because there’s no last minute real estate deals or deadlines to juggle, that means there’s usually no interruptions either. So what the entire day is about is relaxing.
And everyone can use a day like that at least once a week.
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