Boy, oh boy, I remember, in the 1970s, when I was young, almost every Sunday was busy, almost like an extra school day. There was church, Sunday school, and then off to visit Grandmom, or have Grandmom and (Great) Aunt Verna at our house. Cleaning and cooking, and then staying out of the grownups’ way as they played endless (truly, endless! I am certain the games continue now, in heaven!) games of double-deck pinochle.
I also remember the rare Sundays we didn’t do squat. There would be a patch of sunlight coming through the storm door glass to where I was, laying on the dark green carved living room rug reading the Sunday Funnies, doing the puzzles, and then switching over to a coloring book or a Nancy Drew. Mom and Dad would be sitting on the sofa reading their parts of the paper, or watching an Abbot and Costello or Blondie on TV. Dinner might have been fried eggs and potatoes, or oatmeal with piles of toast.
Although I always did well-enough at school, I don’t remember really enjoying it. And Sunday night was always stressful for me. I hated the thought of getting up early and being trapped in classes all day. (Probably why I thought it was a good idea to get so many degrees! WTF was I thinking?) Sagittarians (of which I am one) are supposed to love being outdoors. I think what I love is not so much whether I am in or out, but whether I am free or bound. So, on Sunday night after a “We didn’t do squat” day, I always felt slightly more relaxed anticipating Monday, as if the unstructured day had put enough air in my tank that I could hold my breath until Friday afternoon.
We don’t often get free-Sundays now either. I work a few jobs; Dave is in school, and we try to provide activities (hopefully with friends) for Sophie, and this Sunday (and every other one in general) we have writing group (damn you Milton Workshop!)
But, sometimes we get a lazy day….
And when we do, what do we do?
Dance with Mouse in a new dress sent by Aunt Lee
Nap on the floor or the sofa, as fat as we wanna be
Imagine stories about potatoes
Get visited by Rosie, our shy cat
Re-imagine our furniture
Try on all our favorite shoes
Make art inspired by Frida Kahlo
Drink more coffee than is good for us
And fill up our tank with air for the long week ahead.
I remember when I lived in an apartment and Sundays meant reading the paper all day. No guilt. Wonderful.
On Thu, Mar 14, 2019, 2:42 PM Dianne Pearce Writes wrote:
> dpearcewrites posted: ” Boy, oh boy, I remember, in the 1970s, when I was > young, almost every Sunday was busy, almost like an extra school day. There > was church, Sunday school, and then off to visit Grandmom, or have Grandmom > and (Great) Aunt Verna at our house. Cleani” >
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