Sunny Day

Unlikely Favorites

I have a thing for the under-dog days of the week. Friday and Saturday are fine by me. But it's Thursday and Sunday that win my heart.

Thursday Totality 

I love the happy anticipation of Thursdays. Historically, my childhood confirmation classes were held on Thursday. Which meant that my three best friends and I (and our respective crushes) were together for two and half giggly hours. High school thursdays were spent studying history in the living room with my dad. Weekend planning and day early cocktails took place during my undergrad years. Midwest Thursdays translate into YMCA yoga and culinary adventures in the realm of Chile Colorado and Seared Lime Chicken. By principle, Thursdays are never busy. The week's diminuendo rises and falls from dawn to dusk; it song is sung dulce. 

Surmising Sunday

Sunday has a less fixed persona. It's character flux stems from its dualistic position. According the bible-fearing folk it is the final day of the week, a day for rest. Yet calendars place it in the number one spot. And in the that sense it is the first chance at a new week. Sunday is a day for big newspapers, hangovers and children's soccer games. To me, Sunday has a wonderful new feeling about it. I like to do what I like to do on Sundays. On the first and last day of the week I read library books, take bubble baths, watch M*A*S*H* reruns, bake granola, call my mom, browse the grocery store aisles, search for dandelions, groove to old records, dust in long socks, smoke the occasional cigar and do my best to wake up for church. And on special day Sundays I eat brunch.

Brunchday

Today was one of those special days. After a half -session at church (looking for missing shoes can lead to such situations) Preston surprised me with a a trip to Fargo's famed Granite City brunch. The packed buffet had enough carbs to nourish the Green Bay Packers. We feasted on luscious french toast, refined eggs benedict, scoops of potato goo, bouquets of bacon, mildly-healthy grilled chicken, strawberry flooded waffles, Tex-Mex biscuits and gravy, dressing drowned Caesar salad, super model-thin cantaloupe slices, hunky prime rib and freakishly tall caramel rolls. We rolled out of the brewery without even touching the omelet station. A walk was desperately needed.

Finding Fall

The scent of autumn filled our Sunday afternoon at Lindednwood park. We walked along the Red River, flopped on too-small seesaws and witnessed 74,390,234,783.56 mom-created photo-shots. A Lindenwood stroll is an ideal way to while away a "warm" October afternoon.

MIDWEST NOTE: All the locals were in shorts and t-shirts, including the five old photo-shoot children. It was 50 out.  
-1 Midwest Point=Wearing a coat and gloves

Now we are home in flannel. Wearing circus tent-sized flannel shirts is another one my Sunday things.