in moments, places

Sunday Morning Routines

I like to have the backdoor open in my airbnb in the mornings a lot. Merida comes streaming in but all the sound bytes are the small things to go enjoy from the comfort of a room and a bed. Good wifi. Instant coffee that does what I want. I don’t much like reading news on RSS so I deleted the app and accounts. I don’t like taking note of things so I don’t. I do like blogging here on cloudways now because I am lazy and they just take care of everything for me. And then I enjoy writing in Ulysses. I enjoy wandering around and taking photos I can then go look at and nod at the simple beauty of flowers that greet my walk.

That little sky at such a different color and the home behind but the infusion of the colors up front.

As long as I can remember I have enjoyed finding little things that trigger appreciation, sadness, fantasy and then taking photos of them. Then I present them back to you so you can see the things I enjoy finding but perhaps you can go out and find your own things completely different and share them.

The routines on Sunday also include wandering down to Starbucks later in the morning for Starbucks Sunday which is grilled cheese and cold brew and relaxing and people watching. Perhaps reading my kindle book on the iPhone. I did think briefly on buying another Kindle. This time the PaperWhite. Truth is I don’t like real books, real paper, real pens. They all carry maintenance and storage requirements and some require multiple little pieces of things. Pens need ink. Etc. I guess they are all things.

So Sunday routines no matter where seem to be similar. I won’t spend a Sunday in the United States this time when I go back. For that I am thankful. Three days seem just enough to dislike the place even more than I normally do.

But now it is this Sunday in Merida. A place I will miss somewhat but never return to. I think that fact gives me a sense of freedom that I choose where I go and where I return to. What I read news on or not. What little things grab me on a Sunday morning and the sun streaming through the window and door lets me find little moments that perhaps I take for granted. I remember sitting in a room in Phnom Penh or Taipei and hearing those cities come alive in the mornings but no place was like Hanoi. There each day was a rhythm of life and people. Here quiet resides on my Sunday.

I like both and the in-between parts. Happy Sunday.