Sundays

Very close friends of mine had twins last summer and since they were born my Sundays more or less revolve around spending time with them. I usually stop by their apartment once or twice a week to say hello but Sundays are really our time. Sometimes we go for brunch after hanging out with the twins in the morning or we just lounge around the apartment, drinking coffee and gossiping. It's one of my favorite things about my week, least of which is the fact that I think (hope, really) that the twins are developing knowing who their aunt Rebecca is.

When I moved to New York is never occurred to me that I'd miss family. Sure, I knew I'd miss my own family, but I saw that as missing my mom and dad as individuals, not necessarily as people who provide comfort and stability. I've heard people say that New York is a city in which you find your family. That people move here from every corner of the world and are drawn together by circumstance, interest, faith and heart. I realized today, as I puttered around their kitchen, pulling open drawers and setting the table for lunch, that I felt at home. That I felt like I was home. It's a funny thing to wake up in the middle of your life. To have a moment in which you realize that whenever there is, you're somewhere close. Sundays remind me that sometimes just slowing down and taking in the simple pleasure of the people around you is what life is all about. That this is the best it gets.

Although I have a sneaking suspicion that when the twins say "Rebecca," it might get even better.

Have a wonderful week,

-R