Written May 25, 2025
Hello Dear Readers,
Today has been one of those rare, mythical beasts: a truly relaxing Sunday. I woke up right on schedule (because even rest deserves punctuality), practiced piano until my wife wrapped up her culinary quest, and then glided downstairs for a leisurely breakfast. After that, I lounged around like a cat in a sunbeam, biding my time until the most sacred of rituals—Sunday lattes.
This week’s latte came with a twist: lavender syrup. A bold move, I know. It was a Christmas gift from my sister, paired with a milk frother that has since elevated our caffeine habits from “functional” to “fabulously frothy.” Thus was born the weekly tradition we now call Fancy Coffee Sunday—our little rebellion against mediocrity in a mug.
My wife’s undisputed favorite is pumpkin spice, thanks to a particularly memorable Thanksgiving Day Starbucks special. Me? I appreciate the artistry of a high-end café, but there’s something satisfying—almost rebellious—about crafting your own latte at home with whatever flavor your heart (or sister) desires. Some weeks, we skip the syrup entirely. The coffee still sings.
As for lavender? Let’s just say it tasted… like spring in a cup that forgot it wasn’t a bouquet. Not really my vibe, but hey, it was still good. My wife, of course, liked it—though she might enjoy sipping a cactus if it came with a reading nook and a strong narrative arc.
Speaking of which, my wife reads. Constantly. I’m not even sure she knows how to read for “fun” anymore. Even when it’s fiction, it turns into a full-blown academic symposium, complete with notes, themes, and references. YouTube, movies—it’s all fodder for analysis. After years together, I’ve accepted it: she simply cannot relax like a normal human. Even her downtime has footnotes.
Yet even she bows to the sacred calm of Sunday rituals. There’s the weekly Hansei reflection (think of it as a personal board meeting with herself), strategy sessions, goal recalibrations, and some drawing for good measure. Then—and only then—does she read more books. Because clearly, she hadn’t gotten enough in during the previous six days.
Usually, we take a gentle afternoon walk to clear the cobwebs and digest the caffeine. But today? The weather clearly had other plans. Rain came down like it had a vendetta. Our would-be stroll was rained out, drowned beneath the symphony of thunder and sideways wind. So much for getting those steps in.
But not all was lost. Because Sunday, my friends, is also Pizza Day.
And not just any pizza. We make it from scratch, crust and all, with our trusty sourdough starter—our bubbling pet project. There’s something magical about kneading dough together, like couples therapy but with more carbs.
So yes, while others may flock to fancy brunch spots or glamorous outings, we’ve found our own little sanctuary in the art of doing nothing (strategically). Sunday rituals keep us sane, caffeinated, and deliciously grounded.
And if that’s not self-care, I don’t know what is.