What is it About Sunday Mornings?

I often mention Michael Franks as one of the most romantic singers.  His lyrics evoke so many emotions.  They are a celebration of married life as far as I'm concerned.  A common theme seems to be Sunday morning.  Sleeping in, breakfast in bed, sunlight streaming through gauzy curtains, favorite music.  Stuff like that.

Recently Bruce and I watched the Diane Lane and John Cusak movie Must Love Dogs.  With the exception of one particularly weird and out of place scene that's just too sexual for the rest of the film, it's a charming story.  Diane Lane plays a jilted wife.  One of the things she misses most about married life is Sunday mornings.  Pajamas, the newspaper, being lazy together.

What is it about Sunday mornings?

Today we didn't have our fairly regular Sunday morning family breakfast out.  It was just me and Bruce at home with plenty of time before we needed to get ready for second service.  The autumn beckoned.  We poured steaming mugs of coffee, pulled on hats over our messy hair and went for a walk.  We zig-zagged all the streets in our neighborhood.  Saw the bright and thrilling contrast of the top branches illuminated by the sunrise with the lower branches still in shadow below.  Picked out the prettiest trees to point out to one another.  Stopped to notice a green caterpillar making his way toward the curb.

When we got home, I realized that was the most conversation Bruce and I had enjoyed in what seems like several weeks.  We've gotten busy.  Distracted.  Tired.  But this morning we were us again and it was good.

What is it about Sunday mornings?  I don't know.  They just feel different.  The whole world seems to move more slowly.  There is a general sense of no need to hurry.  People smile more.  Of course, for us, Sunday means significantly more than that as we set aside time specifically to worship with our church family; that aside, I guess Sunday is just a day for lingering.  Lingering over conversations, mugs of coffee, neighborhood walks, books, music.  Lingering long enough to notice the one you love.

And suddenly, "a month of Sundays" sounds quite appealing.