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 through the corridor, creating conversation with

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.