easy like Sunday morning

Yesterday I heard someone say that they had a great Monday morning because it felt like a Sunday morning.  I was immediately envious.  On Monday I had to get up with the alarm even though my body wasn’t ready, I had residual irritation from the overly long and underwhelming Oscar show the night before and I was anxious about an audition.  Oh first world problems how you plague me.

Why was I envious of the comment in the first place?  Maybe it starts with this idealized vision I have which involves streaming sunlight on dark wood, a barista quality bowl of cafe au lait, perfect french pastries and/or excellent bread with country fresh butter and wild berry preserves.  Well, if I’m straight up fantasizing I might as well conjure up some of that divine ginger marmalade that seems to be a once in a lifetime find.  My perfect continental breakfast is at a table spacious enough to accommodate me and my partner and our Sunday morning reads.  There is no construction outside or bickering children inside, just a soundtrack of our choosing.  This pretty little picture hasn’t manifested since 2008.  A version of it sans partner last materialized in 2011.

Wow, I haven’t had a lovely Sunday morning in two years?  I call bullshit.  Of course it is and so is my charming albeit cliché definition.   I have “Sunday mornings” on multiple days of the week because “Sunday morning” simply means easy.  Like that song lyric by The Commodores.  I didn’t always know the proper lyrics,  a lover corrected me ten years ago  when I was singing along “leaving, leaving on a Sunday morning”.  Easy like a Sunday morning?  What was he saying, my brain could not compute this meaning.  I had a little rant about what a stupid lyric it was, more to cover my embarrassment at not only singing badly but screwing up a classic lyric.  Excuse me while I pick at the crow stuck in my teeth.

Easy like a Sunday morning.  It makes perfect sense now.  Sunday is traditionally the day of rest and no obligations, the day for brunch or family picnics.  Regardless the details used to evoke it, the meaning is universal.  So why isn’t everyday as easy as a Sunday morning?  Ah but they can be, if I dismiss the white noise worries.  My basic needs are more than met.  Food? Check.  Not just something edible but I have access to nutritious, healthy food.  Clothing? Check. I have clothes, even multiple versions of most items.  Shelter? Check and double-check for wi-fi.  I have access to art, music, information and the freedom to express my opinion.  I am at liberty to pursue my creative goals.  Basically there’s an element of Sunday morning to everyday, it’s just a matter of perspective.  Each day is going to have it’s hurdles but I can set a tone of ease at the start.

Today was like a Sunday morning because I had a full eight hours rest and I didn’t need the alarm.   I’m thinking it might not be so hard to manifest a month of Sundays.