Sunday Morning Routine

I think I’ve found my Sunday morning routine.  For years I have struggled with the Sunday morning dilemma.  You’re awake (well, I’m awake, anyway) with no set agenda.  You don’t want to jump into action and start working on your latest project, because it’s Sunday.  You should be relaxing, not bending your fingers into pretzels making turtle muzzles.


I suppose I should say a word here about the traditional Sunday morning activity – preparing for church, then going to church.  I used to participate in this activity, then I joined a church that worshiped on Saturday and transferred all the activity to Saturday.  Finallly, I stopped going to church on a regular basis, and left my Saturdays and Sundays open to be real weekend days.  You could argue that since I’ve stopped working in medical practice, every day is pretty much a weekend day.  I do, however, try to keep some regular business-like schedule through the week, if only to keep up with my working friends and family.  Not to mention that businesses I frequent, like grocery stores and insurance agencies and doctor’s offices, didn’t retire along with me.  I must digress to say that the more I use the Internet, the more I feel that anything can be accomplished at any time, 24/7, without regard to traditional schedules. 


Now don’t run to your comment section to ask why I’m not attending church.  That’s a whole ‘nother post or two…probably seven.  Right now I’m in serious danger of losing my way completely and not even getting to the point of this post, which is…the Colbert Report.  This morning when my public television station turned over its programming to little children worldwide, I did the atypical thing and checked the program guide.  Guess what?  (not hard, since I already told you)  The Colbert Report is on my television at 7 a.m. Sunday!  It’s a ritual in the making, I can see it now.  Big-time humor meets current events is the perfect start for my week. 


I was up very early this morning.  Breakfast was served at 5:45 a.m. followed by a healthy dose of mixed pills and a crossword puzzle.  I”m seriously thinking about picking up a knitting or crochet utensil because there are ideas pressing at me and I want to caress the Mirasol sweetie I unearthed in my search for another yarn yesterday.  Whew.  That sentence was getting too long.  Made my brain ache.


Last night, I thought a lot about brain aches.  I watched Gifted Hands, the TNT made for TV movie about Ben Carson.  (look it up)  When I was an intern at Johns Hopkins Hospital, Ben was the chief resident in neurosurgery, an indescribably difficult position to attain.  He was a slightly built, soft-spoken, congenial man, serious but approachable.  Four years later he was Chief of Pediatric Neurosurgery – a meteoric rise, in the sphere of medical careers.  I had no clue that his background was so chaotic, but it doesn’t surprise me.  In this country, as a rule, when you see an African-American in a position of high attainment, there’s a back-story of adversity and overcoming.  It’s the times and the place. 


There were certain shots in the show that had me looking for myself in the background.  Funny how you can get plunged back into a time period with one glimpse of a familiar scene.  One thing I could not relate to was the overt prejudice displayed by one of the attending physicians toward Ben.  I never had that situation arise, in spite of the fact that I was the only Black person in the internal medicine residency (or fellowship, as they called it) for the duration of my stay (1982-1985).  I also could not relate to the serenity of the scenes on the neurosurgery units.  Internal medicine was always bustling, and morning rounds were much more animated and less stiff than what was portrayed.  Anyway, I saw a movie.




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