Sundays

Sunday has always been my favourite day of the week.

It starts with the smell of bacon and fresh coffee and the expectation that most of the day will be spent in earnest sloth.

Sunday is an impossibly hard New York Times crossword puzzle or a leisurely ride on the Harley. It is fresh sheets, an afternoon nap and pot roast for dinner. Most Sundays at our home are spent doing the piddly chores that we never seem to get around to doing during the week and for some reason, it never feels much like work.

Yesterday, started off in much the same way. Dallas and I made breakfast and lingered over coffee because the kids were with their dad this weekend. Then, we picked up his daughter and took her to a function in the big city. While waiting for her event to finish, Dallas took me to this beautiful garden with a tiny chapel that has an interesting history. We went inside to have a look. I was admiring the stained glass and the antique woodwork when Dallas put his hand on my shoulder to turn me around.

In his hand was a small box, which he opened as he asked me to marry him.



I said yes.