I'm in the middle of Monday, and I'm missing Sunday. Yesterday was a family day - after lounging lazily in bed, enjoying the extra hour of rest thanks to the time change, I met my parents for a leisurely brunch. We drank strong coffee and ate omelettes with apples and cheddar cheese, crunchy hash browns and pancakes with powdered sugar. I murmured something about needing to watch my diet and my mother replied, “Why are you doing that?” insinuating I was perfect exactly as I was. Immediately I felt peaceful and okay (then wondered why it is I can’t seem to give myself the same gift?)
After more cups of coffee, we decided to leave the busy restaurant and wander up north for a walk at the mall (and a divine twenty minute chair massage for me! Oh lordy what a treat…..she really dug into my shoulder blades, and I didn’t have to get undressed OR shave my legs – bonus!) Dad found a couple of lucky pennies and we got our people watching in for the week.
We rounded out the day in a bookstore cafe – large Mocha with whipped cream for Dad, and a small one for me. Mom worked on her laptop (end of the month payroll), and I nosed around the travel section and found a delightful little book called “French Milk” – a collection of journal entries, photographs, and cartoons by a young woman who spent six weeks in Paris celebrating birthdays with her mother. It was a perfect day and exactly what was needed to remind me what makes the world right and real. Delicious.
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