In college I took a really, really great honors class that required us to purchase the Sunday New York Times and journal about articles that jumped out at us. I would pick up the newspaper in the bookstore and spend the bulk of Sunday morning reading – my favorite was the magazine, but I enjoyed everything about the experience. I loved touching the newspaper, the print rubbing off on my fingers. I clipped articles and journaled. I saved the magazines from week to week and when it was time to move out at the end of the year, I recycled them, sad to part with them, that memory of Sunday mornings.
We’ve been in our new house for four days. It feels like an eternity because we are so tired. Tired of unpacking, tired because our toddler has serious anxiety about living there and cries and cries and cries (toddler anxiety about moving is a topic for another post), tired of living with piles everywhere and tired of not eating a decent meal (popcorn doesn’t count!).
So I’ve been dreaming of those Sunday mornings in college when I didn’t have to do anything except read the paper. Someday I hope to replicate those mornings with the Sunday New York Times, but this time I’ll have a cup of coffee with me and I’ll be sitting in the breakfast nook or on the patio getting newsprint on my hands.