I love Sunday dreaming. I’ve been married for over twenty years, and some of my favorite times have been the quiet, dreamy weekend days when my husband and I would talk about the future of our home. Early on, in our apartment-dwelling days, we’d chat about the kind of house we’d like and where we’d like to settle down. After we moved into our first home, and fell in love with the Norman Rockwell-esque neighborhood, we would plan for small revisions — fix the porch steps, closet storage, new paint and lighting. And we stayed as long as we could before outgrowing our beloved cottage. Now that we’re in our second house, and feeling like this is where we’ll stay to raise our children, the plans tend to be larger and feel more permanent — finishing the basement, making the laundry room the office and vice versa, gutting a bathroom to build something new and lovely. So on a day like today, free of places to be and filled with summer sunshine, to sit with the man in my favorite room of the house and plan built-in bookshelves like we used to is wonderful. It reminds me of sweet days gone by, melds memories of so many past Sundays with the happy life we have today, and feeds my soul. My heart is grateful.