This morning we woke up 2 hours early (we’re usually running 20 minutes behind on Sunday mornings)—and I was a little tired, but I opened the windows to feel the weather and it was a very nippy 55 degrees. I opened them all the way to feel the crossbreeze through the hall and kitchen and I was fully awake—couldn’t even think of going back to bed. You can just breathe better in the fall.
#276 Sunday morning.
Ben came in, sleepy eyed with his arms full of colored laundry, walked to the laundry room and started the wash, then turned on the TV to the 1930s jazz XM station—always our Sunday morning soundtrack. His hair looks like the Shoney’s Big Boy in the morning and every morning I tell him so. He ruffles it around and it looks the same. He gives me a big hug and I stand on his feet in front of the fridge.
We sat at the breakfast table, having toaster strudel and a sandwich made from sausage and cheese bread from Paul’s Pastry that Emily gave us. It’s very soft, almost sweet with cheese and sausage baked inside. It’s divine.
I was wearing my favorite flannel pajama pants and one of Ben’s old Ole Miss t-shirts—making notes about a new project. Ben was drinking coffee and reading for his lesson. I put my toes on top of his foot under the table, and he wiggled his back in greeting.
And I was distinctly aware of how sweet life is here in our house perched above Magnolia Street.