I remember Sunday morning I would meet him at the park
We'd walk together hand in hand Till it was almost dark
Now I wake up Sunday morning Walk along the lane to find
Nobody waiting for me Sunday's just another day
Sunday will never be the same (Sunday will never be the same)
I lost my baby's heart I must be back again
Sunny afternoons that made me feel so warm inside Have turned as cold and gray as ashes As I feel the embers die
No longer can I walk these paths for they have changed
I must be home the sun is gone and I think it's gonna rain
(“Sunday will never be the same”/Terry Cashman, Gene Pistilli)
For some reason, our dog Chance loves to bark just loud enough and long enough to remind us it is Sunday morning, and the earlier the hour the better time for his poop and pee. Any other day of the week, the time of day is irrelevant, but on Sunday’s the earlier the better (Part of this we believe is that the Farmer’s Market right around our corner begins to set up way too early on Sunday, and the aromas are like an alarm clock for Chance. Sunday, is usually my morning to take the walk, and honestly, albeit IT is too early for a walk rather than a good inhale a push of the pillows and some cozy nesting, Sunday mornings in LA are quiet, the wind rustles, the fragrances of whatever causes you to sneeze the rest of the day are abundant and beautiful, and for the most part, all of the nature which surrounds the LA Basin seem to come to life and if peace can be discovered in a hustle bustle city like LA, around 6:45 am until the next hour it is outside waiting to be found.
But then, there is real life, and sometimes with the fast pace of LA, the traffic, the noise, the selfish, self-important denizens of an urban center, the little thing go unnoticed, just because there is too much to actually hone onto one item, one issue, one person. All I hear from the Trump noise machine and of course psychopathic lies is that even with a ballooned deficit, due to tax cuts for the most wealthy and their corporate bosses, and the fact that the average wage not only has increased but in some circumstances stayed the same, with one set of the flames of inflation, the economy is just BETTER, no make that EVEN BETTER than any other president’s term in office. Well, Sunday mornings on my morning walk with our dog Chance, I have to wonder which invented world Trump and his 1 percenters, and FOX Flat Earther’s live.
The tents, for those lucky enough to have found one, on the sidewalks are beginning to be taken down, those whose only comfort for the night, a torn and tattered sleeping bag are in the process of being rolled up. The boxes of some leftover pizza’s from the night before, half-eaten salads with leafy dried green things strewn on the sidewalks are blowing in the breeze. Men and women are moving about, some in a hurry to fill their shopping cart with plastic bags filled with some kind of personal belongings, others just finding their flip flops or shoes if they are lucky enough to own a pair, and others looking around for something edible from the ground still in a sort of slumber. In America, we have people who sleep on the streets! In America, we have people who are hungry! In America, we have seniors who hide in their homes, for fear of being robbed and who rely on one meal a day and will forgo any medical treatment. In America, we have children still kidnaped and soon to be orphaned! In America, we have people drinking poisoned water, and soon to be eating fruit and vegetables grown on farms with chemicals deemed to cause cancer. And yet in America, we are told that the economy is doing great, no make that GREATER, no make the BEST EVER. In America we Trump and every selfish, inhuman and narcissistic evil action ever committed. In America, we have a Sunday which for some will never be the same again!
