Sundays

If you’re just joining us….I made a commitment for the month of January, via the Fun-a-Day project, to visit a different coffee shop each day for thirty-one days. Guess what? I’ve already broken my promise, due to a fun-filled Saturday replete with unexpected side trips, none of which included a coffee shop, familiar or otherwise.

But Sunday is a weekly exception to the thirty-one cafes in thirty-one days. Sunday is a day for ritual and nothing, not even #fadpdx3, will induce me to change mine. Sunday I get my coffee at little t american baker at SE 26th & Division in Portland, no matter what. Sundays are exempt from my January project the way Sundays in Lent don’t count as part of the forty days.) If you’ve never gone there for baked goods or a turkey sandwich, you’re missing out. Sundays I get there around 8:30 to precede the brisk breakfast crowd. Most of the staff knows what I like to drink, and the Sunday morning line guy knows I like a toasted spelt roll with a shade of butter. (Their scones are also to die for. Maybe next January I’ll survey baked goods.) Some people don’t like little t’s stark, shiny, boomy decor, but it works for me.

This morning was a first. I paid for my drink and was fumbling around for my coffee punch card, you know the kind that our wallets are full of, buy ten espresso drinks and the next one’s free….I was fumbling around and the guy behind the counter asks: “Are you all caught up on your card?”  Really?? He said “yeah, why not?” I liked that. Made my day.

Back to Sundays. Do you have a Sunday ritual? I’m always inventing new ones for my imagined self: a walk in the park, a nap on the couch surrounded by the New York Times, a weekly potluck with friends, brunch out, an internet sabbath….Seems like after that first coffee and spelt roll at little t, though, anything goes. My best Sundays are the ones I get to make up as a I go along.

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