as a student I hated Sundays, especially afternoons when I had to study for next morning school...later in the university, in Thessaloniki Sunday morning meant lots of sleep, a Turkish coffee with cigarettes and newspapers in an old cafe in front of the sea while older people played backgammon ....Sunday mornings were also special in New Orleans, listening to jazz in the sunny living room with big open windows of the white colonial house or in New York, getting ready for real brunch and a gallery visit, after the first coffee and the New York Times reading.....Sunday mornings at home where dad makes coffee and brings three/four newspapers and each of us gets isolated in his own world but at the same time connected with each other in a smiling way..or at my place in Ireland, where I make my coffee, read my newspapers, make a second coffee, listen to music and dream a Sunday smile...prolonging for ever this magic....trying to find the way of keeping that feeling alive the rest of the week...
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