I love fifth Sundays, because Tom and I have made a decision never to stay for combined R.S. and Priesthood meetings. After Sunday School, he said, "I'm going to surprise you," and he took me to brunch at the Grand America. Nice surprise, indeed. We sat by a window overlooking the garden and I watched a large yellow butterfly hover on red flowers for a full five minutes. The interior, too, was filled with bouquets of fresh flowers. Beauty, more than anything, lifts me out of myself. It made me forget the headache I had.
Earlier I rolled pretend cigarettes out of the sacrament meeting program and offered Tom a smoke.
We watched AGE OF INNOCENCE at home and then called Sam and Sarah and asked if we could visit. Elliot called back almost immediately to say that he wanted to come our way, because he wanted to see Mira. Well yeah, who doesn't want to see Mira? We told him Mira wasn't home, and so we were allowed to visit at HIS house.
I was full of caffeine and talked nonstop. Sam and Sarah were gracious and sent us home with a vase of fresh cut pink roses from their bursting bush.
Nice evening. Louis flirted. Elliot sang. Sarah showed us her broken toe. Sam and I mulled over Bear Lake real estate.
Thank you, Tom. Thanks Sam and Sarah and boys. Thanks Grand America. I want to live in your hotel and have high tea every afternoon.
7 comments:
That sounds like a lovely day.
Why are 5th Sundays always so annoying? Luckily I don't experience many being either in primary or YW recently.
you want to live someplace where you can flirt with roman waiters, too. do not leave that part out.
You're welcome! Come over anytime. Fifth Sunday, 3rd Wednesday, 1st Friday.
And actually, Elliot called back because he wanted to say hi to you and Grandpa. He thought of M. mid-conversation.
LOUISE PLUMMER where have you been???? I have missed you! And I still have your signed Care Bears book (I refuse to sell it off). Email me please! Have grad school questions and general ponderings of your life lately! - Erica Spelman (espelman@gmail.com)
PS - No one writes about dead dogs better than you.
WHAT? Sarah has a broken toe? I should have know that. I fail.
Sounds splendid!
Post a Comment