sunday mornings

There is nothing better than sharing a Sunday morning with someone you love. It's the only day of the week that I allow myself to linger in bed long enough to drift back asleep several times, especially after a night of waking every few hours and talking or laughing about the crazy dreams we've been having.

This morning, I treated my guest to a nice bowl of matcha, a powdered green tea that I've just discovered and am in love with. I then fried up some of last night's red-skinned new potatoes in butter, fresh rosemary, garlic, and onion, and topped it with a dash of pink Hawaiian salt.

We sat on the porch in the oddly autumnal 80 degrees, and as the sun warmed our backs, I thought that I wanted that moment to last forever. I used to dread Sunday mornings as a child because they meant a forced religious experience and rebellion against parental control. Now that I get to control my Sunday mornings, I think I want most of them to be just like this morning. It's 1o to 12, and I'm still in my pajamas, still thinking about the potatoes and the tea. Still feeling calm. I could get used to this.