Sundays are my favorite

Sunday mornings I worship at the alter of the world, the New York Times Sunday edition. 

I've sung in church choirs most of my life, and I may do something like that some day again when I don't travel as much as I do now.

But at this moment in my life, when I'm at home at Rob's little house in Minneapolis with my little dog and my little closet full of my clothes instead of a suitcase, nothing is more delightful than a Sunday morning of reading the paper.

Yes it has to be the New York Times, even though it's much more expensive than the local paper.

In these past two years there have been Sunday mornings where the six dollars for the paper was the last six dollars I had until Monday's lessons.

There have been Sunday mornings where the piggy bank had to be shaken and I had to walk up to the store with quarters in a pouch for the paper.

To me, being in Minneapolis, the New York Times on a Sunday is my window to the world and the alter at which I pray for enlightenment, enrichment, and even comradery.

For many years now, probably since I was in my early twenties, I have looked to the Sunday New York Times to show me my peers, my mentors, my heroes.

If there's an article about you in the Sunday New York Times you are either doing things terrifically right or terribly wrong.

I read the terribly wrongs just to stay grounded in reality, but I revel in the terrifically rights.

I watch, I study, I ponder, I emulate.

I am waiting for the day when I open that paper and there's an article about me doing things terrifically right, for the whole world to see.

I live my life on the world stage in my mind, in my intentions.

The New York Times helps me to live my life on the world stage because I read it every week and am reminded and educated that the world is not small, it is not bland, it is not easy. The world is not simple and smooth. The chances for disaster are there every moment, in your own backyard as much as in far flung travel. Shit can go wrong. 

But there are constant opportunities for betterment, for colossal kindness and deep understanding.

And there are the high highs of triumph in your field of endeavor.

I want to join my peers, my club, my cronies, on the positive pages of the New York Times one Sunday before I die.

That's a wish stated. Universe? God? Are you listening?

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