While wife and daughter were still sleeping,

I got up, brought in the Sunday papers, fed some of the cats, showered, then went out to pick up our traditional half-dozen Sunday bagels. The golden morning would quickly fade back to that chilly slate grey that Winter seems to prefer, but at least I got a taste of light.

I came back and had another one of those fleeting moments of contentment as I ground coffee beans and sliced and toasted half an onion bagel; for a moment, there was nowhere I'd have rather been; nothing else I'd have rather been doing.