What is your ideal way to spend a Sunday?

I did it today….slept in late….made cappuccino…read the paper and a few e-mails….watched the Bears kick Detroit’s ass….did some chores….took a nap….jammed with my sons some more….had dinner and even splurged on dessert….I need more Sundays during the week!! ;))

Wake up after a full night sleep with my youngest two grandsons, play with them until their parents come to pick them up, have a nice family dinner with everybody, sit down to Fluther with a glass of wine, and watch the shows I missed while the toddlers were here.

This Sunday was even better, because my two oldest grandsons, who live with me, are both working part-time, seasonal jobs, and they worked all weekend. This is good news.

Sleep. All day.

It’s pouring outside, I made a sizable dent in The Shadow of the Wind, and I am writing poetry (unprompted!) Aside from ignoring exams that are begging for my attention, I would say this is a pretty good way to spend my Sunday.

Sleep in a bit. Go for a walk in the rain that visited today. Come home and wrap up in a blanket, mug full of hot apple cider in hand, and write or read or fluther

What I did instead was… procrastinate from work by fluthering.

sleep….get a fire going.

Chilling out with my man and maybe going to get some Krispy Kreme donuts!

Watching football, eating clam dip.

Immediate sex upon waking. Lie in, play with kids, watch a football match, take dog for a walk, chill out.

Wake up next to my sweetie and have cuddling, followed by slow drowsy sex. Then she’d sleep while I go and make us some breakfast and a big pot of black tea.

I’d come back to the bedroom with the vittles and say, “it snowed!” opening the window to reveal the two feet that have fallen in the night. She’d take a sip of tea, smile and say “mmmm… good thing we have absolutely nothing to do today.”

Then I’d say, “You really think you’re getting off that easy?” and smirk coyly. She’d squeal, and we’d laugh. Then we’d eat breakfast and listen to some NPR in bed. After breakfast, we’d bundle up, put on our ugliest and most practical boots and walk in the woods for a couple hours. We’d come home and I’d start a fire while she throws together whatever we have for lunch and puts the kettle on, throwing a handful of herbs from a jar into the teapot. We’d munch while the house gets warm, then curl up in a pile of blankets in front of the wood stove and start to read. First to ourselves, then aloud to one another.

After a time, our bellies warm and full, we’d fall asleep while spooning in front of the fire for a couple hours, until the room starts to get a little chilly and the sun is setting. I’d get up, throw a few more logs on, and maybe go chop some more before dark if need be, while she slowly rouses herself. When I come back, she’s wide awake and looking at me fondly. Then I’d grab her under one arm and haul her off to bed for a few hours, employing the aforementioned implements and trying at least one new thing. Then we’d talk and laugh in bed for a while and eventually the conversation would turn to dinner.

Something simple, we’d decide. No need to go out, then we’d busy ourselves making something of a simple rustic feast after the appetite we’d worked up, and maybe call up a neighbor or two to join us if we felt like it. We’d kill a few hours eating dinner, telling stories and having a couple beers, followed by some more tea and maybe a little dark chocolate for nibbling.

After a while the two of us would start making eyes at each other until our guests got the idea, (or ideas of their own), and took their leave. Then I’d say to her, “toothbrushing time?” and she’d respond, “it’s only 8:30.” I’d gently lean in and kiss her, smiling. Then I’d grab her hair forcefully and look into her wide brown eyes: “I didn’t say bedtime.” She’d open her mouth just a touch and smile, pause, and try to get another kiss. Allowing only a little peck, I’d give her a slight push, “go on then!” And she’d dart for the bathroom while I clean up after dinner, then follow her upstairs.

Ahh… Sundays…

The floor length white curtains wave gently in the breeze, parting and coming together and parting again. The air smells richly of salt and cinnamon and the birds have been singing raucously for several hours now. We’ve been lying there, naked, for it’s warm enough that even my wife is willing to dispense with any covering except for light, summer weight sheet.

I get out of bed as she drowses there, and admire her curves, willowy like the dancer she once was and still is. I remember what we did last night and, well, my body responds appropriately.

But this is a wonderful place, with complete privacy, and I can walk out on the porch outside our room and not worry about anyone seeing me, even in the state I am now.

The sun is bright, already shining down from a fairly high angle. We’ve slept quite late, which is wonderful and unusual; quite different from the insomnia we experience at home. I can hear the kids playing on the other side of the curtain of trees that keeps our porch so private. They’ve probably been up for hours already. But they are having so much fun, they don’t even notice we’re not there, and besides, there is a breakfast spread that appeals to their every desire (and ours, should we choose to partake).

I stretch and do the sun salutation before going back in, a slight sheen of sweat covering my body. My wife turns over when she hears me come in and smiles when she sees the reaction I have….

Oh wow. That’s intense. Can guys get hot flashes?

When we finally come down to the patio, we find the kids playing ping pong. My wife wears a broad-rimmed straw hat and her favorite blue wrap. We sit down beneath an umbrella, drinking appropriately-named passion fruit juice, and soon, eggs and sausages and bacon and toasts and jellies and waffles with real, grade A fancy maple syrup imported from my favorite farm in upstate Pennsylvania. Oh God! If there is one. Please let me experience this just once before I die!

After a lazy swim in the ocean, snorkling and looking for fish, we come in for lunch, again served to us out on the patio beneath the palm trees. We’ve arranged for a guide to come and drive us to the “Moon Mountains,” as they call the volcanic area of the island. It is an absolutely magnificent trek through jungle and out into the sulfurous territory, past bubbling mud pools. My son is absolutely totally excited and is running everywhere. There is a natural hot spring bath, where we can all get in and clean off. Amazing.

That evening, we go out to a very nice restaurant—not too pretentious—but with world-class meals. We have the place to ourselves for a while, but slowly friends drift in, and we talk and someone starts making some music and I’m joining in. It’s just a preparation for later, when we will make music and dance in earnest. But first there is our meal to get through. Wonderful, small plates—tastes of so many things, but not so much you get too full.

Then, dancing. The music is incredible and we feel like we’ve joined that incredible interior/exterior space where we are all one with each other, both musicians and dancers. We create choreographies of rituals no one has even known. They are infused with the jungle and the ocean and the people who are joining us.

The noise level ratchets up. At some point the kids disappear to couches lining the wall and fall asleep watching us.

Eventually dessert appears, and then, somehow, we carry the whole party down to the beach and we dance on the sand and in the water, and then, long after midnight, my wife and I find ourselves back in our room, covered with salt, tired as all get-out, and yet still up for another round expressing our delight and devotion and love for each other before we pass out, knowing that for this Monday, we won’t have to get up to go to work and may never have to, ever again.

Sit down breakfast of Eggs a la King, Portuguese Linguica, Mimosas and sliced peaches.

Drive somewhere scenic to window shop and walk around outside where there are trees and flowers to smell. Lake Sailing. Mountain train riding. A day in a great museum. Basically anywhere outside my current major metropolis.

Sit down dinner of steaks, lobsters, baked potatoes and red wine with a fireplace nearby.