
The teapot my son brought back from Hong Kong.
Here I am again, celebrating a slow Sunday morning with a little pot of silver needle white tea, browsing fabrics on the internet. My muscles are sore from a deeply satisfying day of gardening yesterday. Rain is watering the perennials I transplanted. The air smells woodsy from the bark Rob and I spread around our yard and through my gardens. We have no lawn. Instead, we spread a fresh delivery of brandy colored bark mulch each Spring in the small yard between our house and the woods.
I mark the seasons as I take time on Sunday mornings to look out my window while counting my blessings. The yellow-green of new leaves has deepened now into rich greens. Color has returned to my northern New England world. Birds abound here, and this morning they’re singing up a storm.

Jane Sassaman's Sweet Potato Vine
eQuilter.com is my Sunday morning companion. I scroll through pages and pages of fabric samples, planning projects and following design trends. The fabrics popular now are amazing to me, cotton prints with bold colors and large, Asian-inspired patterns. See what I mean? Glorious.
And look at this delicious fabric by one of the industry’s leading designers, Kaffe Fassett. Ever day-dream about blue and purple trees?

Kaffe Fassett's Violet Verbena
Then there is the eye-opening collection by Luella Doss entitled Hot Flash. There’s a child that awakens within a woman as she nears menopause, and this fabric speaks to her. I see the doors inviting me into a new stage of my life.

Luella Doss's Hot Flash
See what I mean? It’s like a walk through an art gallery, and I smile the entire time that I’m browsing.
As I pour the last of the tea into my cup, it’s time to write the girls, the best part of my Sunday morning ritual. Each week my dearest friends (who happen to be my husband’s cousins and part of my life since childhood) and their mom (my husband’s aunt and the adored matriarch of our family) and I all email each other. We share the weekly news of our kids, our jobs, victories and struggles, and what makes our hearts sing. This multi-generational sharing between women is the high point of my week. It’s the modern replacement of the woman-speak that used to happen in shared homes, neighborhoods, the river bank. We’re all so spread apart: I’m in New England, Terry is in San Diego, Michele and Linda are in Oregon. Our digital discussions are gold to me. I get the encouragement, modeling, validation, and sister love that I need to begin again on Monday morning.
Such sweetness I find on Sunday mornings. It fills my soul. And yes, I take time to pray and meditate, listening to that still, small voice within me. This is when I center myself on my strong foundation, and fill in the chinks that come from living. How do you fill yourself back up each week? What is your Sunday morning ritual?