I know it will be a good week if I wake up in time to watch CBS Sunday Morning on, well, Sunday mornings. The irony is that Sunday is the only morning on which I get to sleep in.
CBS Sunday Morning begins at 8 a.m. Central. That's not what I call sleeping in.
I actually always wake up in time to catch CBS Sunday Morning, but it's the battle of whether or not to open my eyes that the programmers over at CBS don't always win. On those mornings that I choose to roll over and pray that no one under three feet tall noticed my eyes flit open, I tell myself that this week's program is probably a repeat anyway and proceed to make sure that I don't wake up until an hour and a half later, when the show is over.
Can you tell that I adore that show?
I'm probably tipping my hand to you a bit in revealing my favor for the program because I often find myself thinking that we should cover such-and-such topic on Blog Nosh Magazine after watching an interesting feature. I hate to be a hack, but some of their stories are just too enticing. I want to know more and my gut tells me that there's bound to be a blogger out there that's written about it and a handful of readers that would love to read about. Even if they don't know it, yet.
This morning, though, I felt more as though CBS Sunday Morning had been reading my blog and running with features from there, not vice versa. If only.
This week is the 30th anniversary of CBS Sunday Morning and as such they featured a couple of retrospectives on the show, as well as one fascinating piece about Sundays in general. In A History of Sunday, a look at what makes Sundays so special wove a line through the history of observing the Sabbath, lifting of blue laws preventing certain business practices on Sundays, right up to the mention of a now must-have book on my wish list, The Peculiar Life of Sundays
Granted, much of the book appears to look at the roles of religion and observance on Sundays, but it is more than that. According to Harvard University Press:
"[Stephen Miller] pays particular attention to the Sunday lives of a number of prominent British and American writers..."
I'm sold. Because it isn't just me, it is Sunday.
Hearing your Sunday stories has been a pleasure, so far. Many of you go to church, most of you stay in your pajamas, all of you try to relax and pretend that tomorrow isn't Monday. One of you even read my quest to open my eyes to serendipity lurking around every corner and took it up as your own search for serendipity.
I would love to think of so many of us taking the big, yet tortured, leap to get out of our pajamas on Sundays and greet the world with a challenging smile that says, "What do you have for me today? What is waiting to be divulged, if only I would listen?"
This Sunday? I tried to go to church but found the old country church I favor to be under construction.
My spirit just couldn't muster the heart to attend mass in the school gym a block away. Yes, my devotion may be just that shallow. I'm working on it.
I took this stumbling block as a sign that I shouldn't force the worship and, instead, wandered into Bay St. Louis a bit early. I spent the time I would have been at church wandering around an indoor flea market, eyes open to opportunity.
The faces I encountered showed no interest in playing along in my serendipity game, so I looked to the objects, instead.
Old mirrors, disintegrating into murky darkness, hinted at the master bathroom covered in such mirrors I've always envisioned. An oversized Florida-retiree grandmother-style woven purse with large glossy flowers tugged at the ironically-cool hipster I sometimes fancy myself as, but know better than to try to pull off. A newly rented, entire stall of Dia de los Muertos themed items teased me but forbade entrance, as nothing was priced yet.
Which left me in the retro-kitchen stall, fingering Formica tables and kitschy tea towels, wishing I was a wee bit more domestic. Finally, I saw what I was looking for and for which I had no idea I was looking: an old screen door, weathered dark green paint, covered in chicken wire.
Perfect.
One of the reasons I moved into this writing studio is that I needed a place to spread out and actually visualize the stories in the Blog Nosh Magazine queue. Opening 23 tabs will do the job, but is entirely disorienting and ineffective. I am a pen and paper girl at heart and ultimately need to access the tangible before I can make sense of the intangible.
This screen door is exactly what I needed. But is it for sale?
With no price tag attached and the imposing look of a treasured display solution, I went off in search of a saint stall manager. As it happened, the owner of the stall happened to be walking out of the door that very moment and returned with me to consider my inquiry. Would she sell it?
A minimal amount of storytelling laced with subtle pleading and $20 later and it was mine. Paired with a handful of wooden clothespins, this fortuitous find is the perfect solution for visualizing stories available for Blog Nosh Magazine on any given day. Or, as is usually the case when scheduling, any given Sunday.
This Sunday is an exploration of stories at my fingertips. Stories told, stories untold, stories hidden but hinting at the want of discovery.
What did you do this Sunday?
{those photos are from my studio, though taken with the only camera I have on hand, which is not a still camera. real photos coming soon...}
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Writer. Mother.
