Loony Sanity on a Sunday

W 112

Some years ago, on a golden Manhattan morning, I stepped out of my apartment, rode the creaky wood-paneled elevator to the lobby, pushed through the entry doors of thick glass and curlicue iron, and emerged into the brilliant sunlight of a Morningside Heights spring. I strolled down West 112th Street to Broadway to get a copy of the New York Times before church. There were green leaves sparkling on the trees and rainbows of flowers skirting their trunks. There was a soft, warm breeze blowing. Were there choirs of birds singing? There must have been. Continue reading

Snowdays and Sundays

Just stay inside and pray.

Just stay inside and pray.

When I lived in the Northeast, I used to love snow days. Everyone did, of course. I took a kind of cosmic pleasure in seeing my world come to a halt. At last God had gotten the better of our busy selves. Though proclaimed by the schools, the snow day seemed in fact a divinely imposed sabbath–a white sabbath, come in its own soft fluffy way to stop us in our tracks and force us to do nothing, or at least much less than we expected to do. It was an invitation to rest that we could not easily refuse. Continue reading