Escaping Sunday Morning Essay, Research Paper
Another Sunday morning is here. The kids are running around the house bored out
of their
minds. They are throwing their basket balls against the wall, and waiting for me
to finish the
laundry so we can go to the park. We don?t have much of a lawn to play in. I
lean against the
washer, exhausted. I begin to daydream as I take the clothes out. I open the
dryer door, and climb
in. I am getting into a Land Rover at the foot of a steep rocky mountain. It
transports my loved
ones and I up an inclination on a narrow winding road. The air is full of mist
and bewilderment.
The sun is setting over the horizon, and an extensive magnitude of colors adorn
the evening.
Burgundy and violet blanket the lowering sun. After a stimulating ride we
arrive. The majestic
structure is breathtaking. A castle, crafted of sturdy grey rock waits for us.
Gargoyles
overshadow the colossal front entrance. Carvings decorate the vast amounts of
spherical towers
and rigid corners. It is definately a magical place. It is very peaceful. There
is no clamor of our
normal everyday life. I don?t hear anything. Even the trees surrounding the
castle are lifeless and
inanimate. They stand, unmoving like soldiers protecting us from the world.
Inside, the main foyer is wide and extends several feet. Antiquated
furnishings and elegant
tapestries compliment the sentiment we feel. Brilliant gold and warm greens
intermingle with the
dark marble flooring. Above is a massive glimmering chandelier, made of fine
crystals. I am a
child at recess as I explore the maze of hallways abundant with bedrooms, dens,
and closets.We
are obviously the first occupants in a long stretch of time. I pursue one of the
sleeping quarters.
The bedding has not been slept in. There is a collection of dust and cobwebs in
various corners.
An eerie feeling creeps over me, and intrigues me at the same moment. There are
impressive stone
fireplaces in almost every room. I can envision myself spending a lot of time
cuddling with my
beloved in front of a warm crackling fire. The canopy bed is soft and inviting.
The blankets and
sheets are royal blue. There is an antique oak dresser. In my travels, I realize
that all the rooms are
decorated with different themes of colors.
I ventured toward one of the many staircases. They are spiral and steep.
The clanging
noise as I climb, echos through the desolate hallways. They are black , and cold
to the touch. I
have a steep and vast view of my surroundings. I know it will be hard to leave.
I can hear my son
running and playfully yelling throug
each of the many
portraits he passes on the way. I let out an uncontrollable burst of laughter. I
am not sure if it is
that he is so humorous, or if I am overwhelmed by the mystique. I shout down to
him, ?I will be
upstairs if you need me!? He replies, ?OK, Mommy. This place is cool!? I reach
the peak of the
staircase. There are several quarters I could investigate. I choose the closest.
It is an over-sized
washroom. Adjacent to the naturally toned far wall is an impressively large
claw-foot bathtub. A
matching beige sink and flush toilet adjoin the neighboring wall. I could fit an
army of people in
this one room. A long hot bubble bath would be wonderful. I can imagine the
steam rising, and
covering the large oval-shaped mirror over the sink. I would light a vanilla
candle, turn the lights
off, and soak for hours. With my arms crossed, eyes closed, and a grin on my
face, I am lost in
this thought for a while.
I casually make my way back downstairs. My curiousity is sparked by a
smell similar to
cleaning solutions. I find my way into a large illuminated kitchen. It it
suitable to cook for royalty.
A diverse collection of shiny pots, pans, and other cooking utensils hang from
the ceiling. The
refrigerator could fit an iceberg. I open the door and am overcome by a white
rush of cold. I spot
a bottle of champagne inside, and several packaged meats in the freezer. They
are compliments of
the host. It must have been prepared recently, because I could eat off the
floors if I so desired.
The floor is brilliant white tile, sparkling with cleanliness. As I exit, I
notice a doorway to my left.
I open it. To my amazement, I see a room wall-to-wall with books. This is the
largest collection I
have seen other than in a public library. The bindings are mostly dark blue,
green, and red,
amongst the sprinkling of dust and lint. There are old wooden ladders reaching
up to the tops of
multi-leveled shelves. I notice a brass rotary telephone sitting atop a lengthy
antique pine desk,
complimented by a brown leather reading chair. I could stay in here for hours,
but I need to
unpack and find my family. As I reach the main entrance, they are waiting for
me, rifling through
bags and boxes they had brought along. We look at each other and smile. All I
can muster out of
my speachless mouth, is a quaint-spoken ?Wow.? My son sums up the entire
experience for us
perfectly with an excited and sincere, ?Can we stay here forever, Mommy? Are we
going to stay
here forever Mommy? Mommy?? I look at him, and throw my laundry on the floor.