Just Sunday

It’s just Sunday, and it’s promising to be a hot one. Time for a leisurely breakfast and some coffee. We have plants to go in in the morning. We scaled down our vegetable garden to tomatoes because of the lack of sun in our yard, but we have a full herb garden that needs a couple more herbs. Lots of basil to go in with the tomatoes.

Once the tomatoes are in, we may be waiting for rain. I would like a good thunderstorm to come through. We might go and write for a while; I don’t know. Not an exciting day, but a good one.

Have a good day!

Random Thoughts

I asked Chloe the cat whether she was going to help me find a topic for today’s blog. She said “Meow” and jumped off the couch, which I took to mean “No.” So I’m on my own for today’s topic.

I’m listening to the “Always Sunday” chill mix on iTunes. It has 35 hours of music on it, which means more hours than Sunday has. I’m impressed with someone’s attention span, that’s for sure. It makes my thirteen hundred words a day look much less impressive.

Even though I have grading to do, I will not start it till Monday. I am jealously guarding my weekend, and as I already gave up part of it for a school function yesterday, I feel justified. I might regret it somewhere toward Tuesday, but I need this weekend for myself.

This is my 84th day straight of posting on this blog. I thought it was more, but apparently the timer had a glitch in it and finally righted itself. Or it’s wrong now and I have more posts than that.

Coffee and chill makes for a perfect Sunday.

Sunday Lazy Sunday

I have nothing planned for today. It’s Sunday, and I want to soak up all the leisure I can before the work week starts tomorrow. I just woke up, and a nap feels like a good idea already. I’d do better drinking a cup of coffee and listening to chill music, which is what I’m doing right now.

The coffee is strong and the music mellow. A good combination, but I’m still sleepy. It’s only 7 AM, so I have a whole day of nothing ahead of me. I will probably do something, though — I have some internet searches for the upcoming novel.

Here’s a picture of Chloe doing what I feel like doing today:

Major undertaking

We’re replacing the tuner for our stereo system today. It’s only 15+ years old, but it’s hardly top of the line, and it’s started making unpleasant buzzing and popping sounds. Cue in Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” — “DEE dee dee ZZZZRRRRRPPPZZZZZT”

We bought its (used but newer) replacement through Facebook Marketplace the other day for $100, so today we’re going to install it.

I got Richard at the right moment to agree to install it. Otherwise it could have sat on the couch for weeks. We have a habit around the house of getting a new gadget and letting it sit. And sit. There are so many life-changing gadgets in this house that are not, in fact, changing my life. The air fryer is not frying, nor is the instant pot potting. So I really want the tuner tuning.

The replacement of the tuner requires more work than I had apparently considered. I just labeled a bunch of wires ‘front center’, ‘front right’, ‘front left’, ‘right surround’, ‘left surround’, ‘active subwoofer’, ‘passive subwoofer’, and ‘passive-aggressive subwoofer’. The latter is probably the one making ominous popping noises.

My task in all this is to label things and stand back, because this is RICHARD’S STEREO. And I’m fine with this, because my concept of a fancy stereo is one of those all-in-one bricks that Wal-Mart sells, the one with the two breadbox-sized speakers and nothing that looks like a subwoofer.

The old tuner is out, and I am eternally grateful Richard’s taking care of this project because there are entirely too many inputs for my comfort.

For some reason I’m really hungry for a plate of barbecue, Kansas City style. I have no reason why.

The Best Sunday Ever

I woke up this morning thinking it was Monday. The alarm had not gone off, and my phone read 6:09 AM, an hour later than I usually get up. I rushed around, wondering if I had time for a bath and realizing I hadn’t put my meds in their organizer the night before.

And then I looked at my phone again and realized that it read Sunday, October 25.

I feel like life has given me a present. Another day to my weekend, another day to prep my NaNoWriMo entry, possibly go to the cafe and bounce ideas off my husband. Another day of relaxation. I feel like Ebenezer Scrooge when he woke up and realized he hadn’t missed Christmas after all.

What a reprieve! I think I’ll be grateful all day.

Sleepy Sunday

It’s Sunday morning, and I slept in really late.

I need to get back into writing, in-between making a sourdough rye bread and spoiling one little kitty. If I can wake up.

The coffee is on its way. It’s a commercial coffee from a small mill instead of our usual home-roasted. It will wake me up just as well. Hopefully.

Me-Me and Girly-Girl are teaming up on my while I write. Me-Me thinks I’m not clean enough. Girly-Girl just wants attention.

Richard will brine and smoke salmon this afternoon. I want him to make a cream sauce and serve them over sourdough waffles for dinner if he’s feeling adventurous.

This is my Sunday. If I could only wake up …

A Sunday Morning in the Age of COVID

(There was to be a picture here, but for some reason I can’t get my pictures to mail to me.)

Sunday mornings in my house:

This much hasn’t changed: Classical music in the background — today it’s an album of violin concertos.

Coffee — currently we’re drinking a store-bought coffee; usually we drink beans that Richard roasts himself.

Cats — there are four, although one seldom comes upstairs. One of them, Girlie (the patched tabby with the attitude) is sitting next to me. She helps me get my work done.

Now, in the time of COVID: Breakfast is usually cereal, but in the quarantine I’ve discovered that I like playing with sourdough starter, and so sourdough bread as french toast is the featured meal of the day. I will make more sourdough bread later. I’ve named my starters: Marcy is a Polish whole wheat starter, Horatio is a home-captured wild yeast, and MarcyxHenrietta is an accidental batch that got spiked by the yeast water known as Henrietta.

My computer — I work on my writing on Sundays. Normally, I would be on my way to the cafe to write for a while. Now I write in a corner of the living room, burgundy and gold. I hate to be far from the action, which is part of why I used to write at the coffee shop. I miss the coffee shop.

The view through the window — all the snow from the freakish snowstorm has melted, and the sky is a blue-grey. I need to get out, even if it’s just a trip in the car to the local park.

Today, for some reason, feels like Easter (which it is for the Orthodox faiths) and I have hope that we will rise from this pandemic a more thoughtful people.

Sunday: Classical music and tea

I’m late today — just warming up for today’s reading/tweaking of Apocalypse. My last thorough pass-through, I hope. I plan to get halfway through the second half of the book; all the way through if my eyes don’t start to bleed (that’s meant figuratively; don’t panic.)

I don’t like the phrase ‘warming up’ on days like this because it’s dangerously hot this weekend in Missouri. Like 100 degrees hot. I haven’t even gone to work at the cafe this weekend because that’s too hot for me to go outside in. (Ok, fine, I could go outside in it but that much heat makes me lazy.)

The drink du jour is Ten Ren No. 913 King’s Oolong/Ginseng tea, a good solid Taiwanese tea a friend of mine gave me. It’s amazingly refreshing hot tea. My frumpy calico cat Girlie-Girl (of the six, the one most attached to me) sits on the couch right behind me, cleaning herself.

Playing on the stereo: Concerto in A Major, Bach. In my life, Sunday mornings lend themselves to leisure and tea/coffee and classical music in a room cluttered with hobbies and cats.

Welcome to My Winter Morning

Sunday morning, and Richard and I sit on the couch over coffee and Baroque music.

Our living room provides comfort with cream and burgundy and dark wood. Clutter from projects and plant catalogs litter the coffee table as garden planning helps us through the winter days. I sit on the couch next to Richard with a lap desk on my lap, tapping on the keys of a Microsoft Surface. Words come slowly today; maybe the coffee hasn’t taken effect yet.

The beans that Richard roasted came from Malawi, and the coffee brews up rich and brown sugar sweet with a slight herbal note. Yo-Yo Ma plays Bach on cello over a set of old yet functional speakers.

Chucky, the big butterscotch-colored cat, races upstairs chasing an unseen sprite. Me-Me, grey tabby and white, regards us with her huge, wondrous green eyes. Snowy, pitch-black and ironically named, sits in front of the fake fireplace warming herself by electric heat. Girlie-Girl, calico patched, demands something. Richard shrugs his shoulders and tells the cat he has no idea what she wants.

I light a candle, and the scent of sandalwood wafts to me. I drink my second cup of coffee and think about the seeds cold-stratifying in the refrigerator and other seeds in their packets waiting for the right time to be introduced to soil and water. It’s winter outside, and the weather forecast says it will get even colder, but for now I sit in my warm house on a Sunday morning.