Sunday morning
I'm sitting in an oversized chair in Blake and Evan's living room, drinking my coffee, listening to Patty Griffin, quietly, so as not to rouse the boys. When, as an old lady, I think back on this time in my life, I will think of these Sunday mornings.
I get up and collect the glasses from the night before. Pitching the vodka soaked olives from Evan's martini, rinsing the sticky lemonade from Blake's Arnold Palmer. I'm not sure what it is about this that I enjoy so much. There's probably something stereotypically female there for a woman's studies professor or a freshman psychology major to chew on. Have at it. I'm getting too old to care about any of that.
When I think back on my time here, I will think of Sunday mornings when I washed cocktail glasses, started some coffee, and read The New York Times until two of my favorites woke up.
4 comments:
Memories in the making, little one. You are right, you will think back on this fondly for many many years to come.
Sounds like a nice morning.
One of the waitresses here is a psychology major, they should all be branded in a conspicuous area so that we could see them coming and avoid them, or at least keep our mouths shut.
Suhweet :) I hope one day I'll also have these kinds of memories to make for the future. You work so hard, no one deserves mornings like that more than you do.
Most of my best memories involve coffee.
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