Once upon a time long long ago I lived in a pretty little duplex in a place called Crown Heights. It was a beautiful fall Sunday morning and I had the door open listening to music, and somebody knocked. It was Margie and she brought me coffee. We sat on the porch in the sunshine and then my roommate Celeste came home so she sat down on the porch too. We started talking about our Saturday night which escalated into fits of giggling and teasing like we were all about 10 years old. Not too much longer and my sister Jana showed up and right behind her was my friend Liz with a huge bottle of white wine. We opened all the windows and went inside where we scrounged through the fridge, freezer and cabinets and made lunch together there was not much room in the kitchen so we took turns. One person would chop, the other would stir, someone else would get the pasta, set the table and soon we had a beautiful simple meal. The fresh color of the veggies, the crisp salad, the tangy pasta, the cold wine, the wonderful company.
We went to the living room where we sat on cushions on the floor and Celeste played her guitar and sang for us, and I read poetry I had written and we talked and sang and joked about how we sounded like we were at a camp out singing with Celeste on her guitar and the house just rang with laughter. I looked around the room at my beautiful friends and sister and thought to myself
"Remember this, remember because this a magic Sunday and there won't be another like it again..."