Summer Sundays

It's hard to blog on weekends in the summer. 

Harder than defrosting (truly hard) chicken breasts that have sat in the freezer for 7 months.    Harder than sitting in church when the sun is hot and blazing outside, trying not to fidget during a 30-minute sermon, wishing wickedly instead to be  sunbathing. Harder than getting a date these days.

(Which is really hard, since I haven't been on an old-fashion he-asks-me-out-and-pays-and-might-want-to-go-out-a-second-time date since April.  It might be March.  I do not remember the last time.  Which is ... probably a bad sign.)

Who wants to think about writing?  I'd rather just take a Sam Summer and sit in the Adirondack chair on the shade side of the patio and stare at the impatiens.

But, laziness aside, maybe if I were more diligent about blogging on the weekends, by simple equation, maybe I'd bump up the ease factor on getting a date.

Right? 

OK. Ready, set ....

I love planless summer Sundays like today.  When I slept in until 9, lying heavily in the cool of the air conditioned dark bedroom, hearing the first half-hour of Weekend Edition on the clock radio.  Followed by 30 minutes of power yoga on the patio.  Followed by homemade iced coffee and milk and a cool shower.  Then biking up East Berkeley Street to the Back Bay, no traffic, no need to stop for the red lights.  Wearing the bikini top under the t-shirt with ripped-jean cutoffs and sandals to church, then seeing old friends there, after 4 weeks away.  Catching up with one of those old friends, after what seems like months away, over Pad Thai at Thai Basil.  Decaf iced Americano and the Times, briefly, on the patio of L'Aroma on Newbury.  Over to the empty office to clean a few hours of backlog off the desk, The Decemberists heavily rotating on Pandora.  Feeling good about finishing, which leads to planning a 15-mile bike ride in the early evening (perhaps out to Chestnut Hill and back) through the deserted Brookline streets, to be followed by a 6-mile run once the sun and heat go down, to be followed by a homemade salad of farmer's market lettuce, tomatoes, sqaush and basil (and maybe some defrosted chicken breasts, sauteed in garlic) and a Sam Summer, of course, and then some more sweet, sweet sleep in the cool of the air conditioned dark bedroom.

Ah, not so hard to blog after all.

(Now we'll see if the ease in dating naturally follows.)