For maybe 45 minutes this afternoon, I had the house to myself.
I sat in my atrociously colored pink La-Z-Boy recliner with the intention of doing homework. I ended up being sucked into a magical world of jazz and soul music and had dreams of floating across a dance floor to the tune of Etta James’ “Sunday Kind of Love.”
I went down a Wikipedia rabbit trail - Etta James to Sam Cooke to Nat King Cole - and fed my fascination for huge musical stars who die young. (Sam Cooke, shot dead by a hotel manager at age 33. Nat King Cole, dead at 45 thanks to lung cancer. Etta James is still alive at 73, though…but just look at the Wikipedia pages for Otis Redding, Marvin Gaye, Tammi Terrell…the list goes on.)
Anyway, for a brief moment, I wasn’t in real life. I had a warm cup of coffee, the sweet sounds of the Harry Connick, Jr. Pandora station, and a to-do list with lots of things to check off. I still haven’t made much progress, but I did my “Sunday dreaming,” as Etta James’ song mentions.
What are your Sunday dreams?