Summer Sunday Morning - Dr. Ed Iannuccilli

Summer Sunday Morning - Dr. Ed Iannuccilli

I love the summer Sunday mornings when I take my coffee and the New York Times and sit under the umbrella in our rear yard.  It’s OK that I am frequently interrupted.

Every place I look captures my eyes and my thoughts. Sunrise, framed by a friendly arbor propping up clematis and roses, was peeking over the house in the rear. It is a small carriage house that once was part of our property, sold as three condominiums long before we bought.

The carriage house has such charm with its angles, cupola, and handsome windows. Steam from my coffee cup made it mystical in the morning light. I wished it were part of our property once again.

GET THE LATEST BREAKING NEWS HERE -- SIGN UP FOR GOLOCAL FREE DAILY EBLAST

For a brief, blunt moment, I picked up my cell phone to retrieve my email, but when I saw the echoes of light on the trees and flowers, and heard the songs of the birds, I put it face down on the table. Why spoil these moments?

In the distance, fenced between the arbor and the carriage house, was my garden, bursting with vegetable plants, perennial flowers and grapes from the arbor. Tucked among them were four fig trees; ready and waiting.

The sounds were almost all of nature. A nearby hum reminded me of summer days at the shore when I picked up a conch shell and put it to my ear. “Do you hear the ocean, Edward?" I did then, but today’s purr was a window air conditioner in the house next door.

A light breeze luffed the umbrella above my head.  The nasturtiums reflected yellows and orange; the lavenders loved their pots; the hearty zinnias in delicate pinks, reds, yellows and greens were finally reaching to the sky. The lawn was at ease, topped in two areas by gleaming, silver balls that I kick daily from place to place.

Sunflowers against the house were bending. Daylilies in full bloom meant it was mid-summer. Interspersed were the scattered American flags that Diane had placed.

I was not alone. A hummingbird stopped at the zinnias. The little wren blurted his big sound. Chickadees sang chickadee-dee-dee. Here darted a cardinal; there a robin took a bath next to a bird feeder sporting more goldfinch than I had seen in years.  In the garden, I spotted the dastardly woodchuck, the one who foraged about my zucchini, winter squash and pumpkin leaves. He turned confidently, seemed to smile, and sauntered away.

What to do about the woodchuck, now working on my tomatoes? Irish Spring Soap and mothballs stuffed under the shed were no deterrent. Time to call pest control.

Our squirrels are domesticated. They are happy with the bird seed dropping to the ground from the feeders and an occasional buried nut or two. They shop around, gaze at me, and flip their tail to show who the boss is.

From the side of the shed sauntered a confident, calm raccoon. He darted away when he saw me. I nearly did the same.

Sure, it took all morning to read The Times. So what.

Dr. Ed Iannuccilli is the author of three popular memoirs, “Growing up Italian; Grandfather’s Fig Tree and Other Stories”, “What Ever Happened to Sunday Dinner” and “My Story Continues: From Neighborhood to Junior High.”  Learn more here.