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Monday, February 15, 2010

Just Sunday

Yesterday was the ideal Sunday.

After a Saturday filled with midday partying (which is so underrated), causing me to fall into a beer slumber at an unusually early hour, I awoke Sunday at the bird-chirpingly early hour of 7:30 a.m.

After talking a reluctant and sleepy Luisito out of bed with the promise of tea and milk and lemon madalenas, we watched a blood-orange sky drop hints that a triumphant sun would rise over this sleepy Spanish city. The days here are cloudy and unpredictable making for the loudest, most incestuous tangerine and pink grapefruit sunrises, where exaggerated violets zealously mate with silky blues and apricot yellows, thrusting me back to the Phoenix monsoon summers.

After the sky flaunted the pinnacle of celestial achievements and the sun fearlessly confirmed a coup over dreadful weather, I dropped the blackout shades in my bedroom and crawled back under the feathery down comforter with my cat and patiently waited for him to find his position at my ankles and I fell into a blissful lazy morning nap.

At 10:30 I awoke rested and ready for Breakfast Part II: coffee with cream and french bread toasted with drizzled dark green olive oil and heirloom tomatoes.

I settled in to a long-overdue session just me and Microsoft Word and click clacked away letting my brain unreel and my thoughts disentangle as my fingers unshackled phrases that have been tugging at and crowding my neurons persistently all week; nothing spectacular to speak of, but a release all the same.

Soon we mosied downstairs to a nearby Mexican restaurant where Luisito consented to me ordering everything on the menu that had melted cheese on it. I washed it all down with a Corona.

Since it was cold outside and was hardly the day for a casual stroll through the Alameda, we made our way home with hurried steps and I ran a hot bath, turned on my audiobook and soaked my ice cream thighs in sultry bubbly goodness.

Soon we were two in the tub and my pruned feet claimed ownership of Luisito's shoulders while my arms almost involuntarily linked themselves around his wet calves. We steeped in silence, Luisito patiently waiting for me to finish listening to my audiobook. I disappeared for awhile into the story, hypnotized by the voice of the narrator, barely conscious that I was smoothing the hairs on Luisito's legs with a washcloth.

When the book finished, further naked activities commenced, but their impracticalities were soon recalled as knees and elbows and ankles seemed to multiply in the most unexplainable way and press themselves into unforgiving porcelain. An immediate transfer to the locale of standard procedure was in order: an invitingly fluffy bed where I had already spent a good portion of the day but was happy to return to under the auspice of far more lively undertakings.

Nail-biting tautness was contrasted with the clemency of timely release as we felt the heavy strain of two jumbled minds fall under the irrational persuasion of our much more resourceful bodies.

That night with very little convincing, Luisito agreed to make vegetable lasagna from scratch and I somehow found room to welcome more melted cheese into my belly. This was finished off with a slice of decadent chocolate cake that I had slaved over the day before using some premium German chocolate I had picked up at a gourmet shop.

Then, we melted into the couch under a blanket, the cat curled up into a donut between us, the heater warming our previously neglected toes to lazily watch a little TV before turning in.

Luisito turned to me and said, "Hey Honey, it's Valentine's Day."

I really had completely forgotten.

Of course, with Sundays like these, who the hell needs Valentine's Day?

10 comments:

tysdaddy February 15, 2010 at 11:37 AM  

What an exquisite post!

You're descriptions of the sky, and the dawning of day, literally made me gasp . . .

Glad you found the time to put this up.

formerly fun February 15, 2010 at 12:06 PM  

We have so little uncommitted, unstructured time that those few moments are some of my favorite times spent with Gene.

Glad you had a idyllic Sunday.

Oh, and you know it's beautifully written when we can enjoy it too.

tysdaddy February 15, 2010 at 12:19 PM  

"The days here are cloudy and unpredictable making for the loudest, most incestuous tangerine and pink grapefruit sunrises, where exaggerated violets zealously mate with silky blues and apricot yellows, thrusting me back to the Phoenix monsoon summers."

I read this again, and it still takes my breath away . . .

Noble Savage February 15, 2010 at 1:00 PM  

That sounds exquisite.

flutter February 15, 2010 at 1:01 PM  

This post is delicious.

jen February 16, 2010 at 1:18 AM  

i want a sunday like that,

The Unbearable Banishment February 16, 2010 at 4:37 AM  

When my wife and I lived in Manhattan B.C. (Before Children), we use to wake up early on a Sunday, have a bite to eat, bring the Sunday Times back to bead, read a few sections and then go back to sleep until about noon. It's long gone but not forgotten.

Ellie February 16, 2010 at 3:31 PM  

This is porn. I'm calling the censor.

(I love this porn. If the censor comes I'll have to shoot my own toes.)

Sid February 17, 2010 at 2:06 AM  

Damn girl. Completely envious of your Valentine's Day.

Gwen February 25, 2010 at 5:23 AM  

Beautifully written, truly. Your words are like a delectable dessert.

I'm glad you had such an awesome Valentine's Day. I spent mine wiping baby butts. It was awesome, just in a really different sort of way.

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