“I do my Sunday dreaming, oh yeah and all my Sunday scheming every minute, every hour, every day…” -Etta James, “Sunday Kind of Love”
I was12 years old and my mother would be in the kitchen cooking breakfast and my father would be sitting in the living room in his velvet green high back chair, with the pill buttons stitched across in vertical lines while reading the Sunday paper with his ebony wood pipe hung from his lips. The sweet smell of crushed tobacco leaves would linger in the air and a rusty, strong voice would bellow out pains of love on the record player and I was knelt down with my legs folded under my hips right next to my father, thinking about my Middle School crush while looking at the 45 Album cover of Etta James.
Glad for the memories thankful for her telling her story in “Rage To Survive.”
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