Sunday morning

It's another Sunday morning. My husband usually sleeps in on Sundays, and the house is quiet. He will probably go get a newspaper when he gets up and said last night that he wants to get some Pillsbury cinnamon rolls to bake. While we were watching Groundhog Day late last night a commercial came on for those cinnamon rolls and he now wants to eat some. Advertising works on him. Me too, sometimes, especially for the fast food sandwich ads. I am a sucker to try new products, too.

My favorite childhood memories are of the Sunday mornings that we DIDN'T go to church and stayed in our pajamas and my father would go up to Iwan's and get a newspaper and then to the bakery and bought a dozen chocolate-covered cake donuts -- the big fat kind. We would all sit around contendedly eating our donuts, my dad read the paper and my mother seemed happy that she didn't have to cook us breakfast or get us ready to go anywhere. Sundays when we stayed home were easy going, calm, happy days.

I will probably stay in my jammies all day today. Life is so much better since leaving religion and church. No more getting up on Sundays and rushing to get dressed and driving to a building full of guilt-ridden, sad acquaintences who are interested in focusing on their problems and hearing how very bad humanity and the world is. I can get more optimismistic influence by going to Bally's! When I was going to church, no matter what denomination it was (we tried several), I was sad a lot and seemed to have a harder time coping with problems. Now, I still get sad sometimes, and have problems and difficult things to deal with, but I can pull myself up by my bootstraps better and give myself the credit for it. I get more peace and tranquility sitting on my deck listening to the birds sing and feeling the breeze upon my face. Or eating a cinnamon roll with a hot cup of coffee and reading the newspaper with my hubby.