I tend to wake up early on Sunday mornings. I'd love to tell you that this is because we have fun plans every Saturday night, that we're painting our new town red and reveling in all the finer things that Tennessee has to offer, like Bourbon and really good barbecue. The reality is, though, that we still feel a bit like ramblers, having put a pin in the house-hunt until we get a better sense of the nearby neighborhoods (and a bigger number sacked away into our bank account). My life is not one of mystery and intrigue. My life is one of running errands and balancing the budget and try to remember the last time someone walked the dog.

Saturdays usually mean an early coffee, a late breakfast and an early supper with snacks smattered in between. It's the day of fitting-things-together, and even though we went out to 55 South (great drinks and appetizers) for an early dinner last night, I  managed to watch two Nora Ephron movies and make it to bed by 10, which is the new hour at which I invariably turn into a pumpkin. 

But then Sunday morning rolls in, soft and gentle with its dawn light. I'm usually the first one up, reveling in the misty colors that roll around our apartment complex as the rays of sun dance down the nearby mountains. I brew a cup of coffee and birds chat to one another on the branches outside my dining room window and I steal a handful of quiet moments to myself. It's wonderful. 

Not this morning, though. This morning, James was up early to record a podcast (if you like comics or if you like wonderfully talented people who tell roaringly funny stories, you can find it here) that ended up being cancelled. I was awake and he was awake and though everyone (including the dog) took turns going back to bed, the sun was glinting through the blinds and the birds were calling to us and I decided that it was a good morning to reinstate The Long Walk. 

So instead of stealing a handful of quiet moments for myself this morning, I forced a handful of quiet moments on my dear husband (who doesn't like mornings OR long walks, especially if you shove them together before a cup of coffee) and the dog (who spent the whole jaunt lunging at birds and squirrels and shadows and her own tail, like a spaz). 

It took all of a half hour to make a large loop around the apartment complex (it would have taken less, but we're trying to re-train Biscuit to have something resembling manners) and despite the cold and the frost and the misbehaving puppy, it really was gorgeous. 

Life really can be gorgeous. You just have to be willing to wake up and meet it half way, you know?

What does your Sunday morning routine look like?

-MMV.