The Sunday Recipe
Is there a perfect recipe for a perfect sunday?
Is it a simple scoop of do-nothing-for-hours + two whole cups of slumber?
Is it four tablespoons of catching up +
Laughter added to your own measure?
Is it a slightly elaborate dish,
With half a cup of silliness
Mixed with two teaspoons of family time
Resting in a bowl of your favourite movie,
Slowly added to a mixture of to-do lists,
Simmering for 2 hours in leftover errands?
Is it a recipe of goodness, packed with
Long mornings, breakfast for dinner,
Tea at odd hours, and legs up for hours
On your couch, doing nothing.
Or perhaps reading?
Is it a recipe that involves long walks
With a friend
And oodles of conversations and day dreaming?
Does it have a secret ingredient that masks
The utter disgust of a new week?
Will this recipe allow me the joy of
Making it, week on week,
Instead of dreading the lull it otherwise has hidden
In its layers?
But I pause to ask myself,
Why is this perfect recipe for a
Perfect sunday as important as
The right amount of salt to a curry?
Why can I not just eyeball it?
Like I do with my infrequent cooking.
Is my expectation of perfection
Reducing the flavours?
But if at all there does exist an
Ideal Sunday Recipe,
I hope it’s a happy one,
With cups full of humor and
long, long mornings
Filled with nothing-to-dos, wrapped in
The tunes of my morning playlist,
The sun pouring in and my tea sitting idle.
And before I know it, alas, I have to do my laundry.