What is there about Sundays?

 

I often puzzle about why Sundays feel different than the rest of the week. For me, the only change in schedule is that I go to church, virtually these days, so that’s just a small bit out of a day. And yet from the moment I wake up, the day feels different—a slower pace, a kind of mellowness, a thankfulness. Perhaps it is remembering that God rested on the seventh day. Even Sophie feels the difference—she slept late this morning, went out briefly, and then let me linger in bed until almost 8:30.

This week, perhaps it is being grateful for waking up in a warm house with running hot and cold water and plenty of food, though those of us so blessed feel almost guilty when so many are still so miserable. Jordan and Jacob have made pbj sandwiches to support the neighborhood effort for the Presbyterian Night Shelter, and we are looking for other ways to help our less fortunate neighbors. Part of my effort, I hope, will be to cheer our neighborhood with a newsletter chock full of snow pictures. Berkely-ites of all ages turned out to sled, build snowmen, and even ski on the streets last week.

Had myself a little dinner party of one last night and thoroughly enjoyed it. Made the tune casserole that I occasionally long for and my family won’t touch, although I admit this time, I got carried away trying to incorporate leftovers. I guess even a generation removed, I’ll never get over the Depression-mentality my mother instilled in me. But still, my dinner was good, accompanied by a glass of wine and topped off by some Godiva chocolates from a neighbor. I did eat in my pajamas, but they were brand new, spanking clean. All I needed was candlelight.

On my Kindle now, I’m reading This Time Next Year We’ll Be Laughing, a memoir by Jacqueline Winspear, author noted for her WWII mysteries set in England and featuring Maisie Dobbs. The memoir gives an in-depth picture of rural life in Kent post WWII. Winspear comes from an eccentric family, always on the edge of poverty, and she worked hard from the time she was five or six—sometimes in the fields with her mom, sometimes at a variety of jobs from babysitting to receptionist to house cleaning. Chapters are topical and roughly chronological. She’ll say, “This is what I remember about….” and then she’s off describing the horses she’s loved, the disappearance of the railroad, the day her brother almost died.

As you read, you get the sense that, in spite of its hard-scrabble nature, hers was a childhood surrounded by much love and recollected with affection. Throughout there is a sense of closeness to the land, probably because for much of her “growing,” the family’s livelihood depended heavily on working with crops. But Winspear seems unusually in tune with the seasons and the ebb and flow of life. She also has a remarkable memory for nature’s odd little bits—plants and animals. A truly worthwhile book.

Sundays used to be “family dinner” when I was raising children—woe betide the child who missed dinner unless gainfully employed and earning pay. Perhaps some sense of that family togetherness lingers over the day for me, although my immediate, local family dines together in my cottage almost every night. We often try to have something special for Sunday dinner—like a roast or something Christian does on the grill. Tonight, we had a delicious Mexican-inspired casserole—refried beans, chicken, Rotel, corn, cheese--out of what we have in the cupboard, because this is a week to avoid grocery stores and Jordan has us well stocked.

Maybe what makes Sunday different is that, sensing it is a day apart for the world, we put aside some worry. Lord knows there is plenty to worry about in a world with too much hate and anger and misinformation. I am appalled—and angry myself—at what has happened in Texas and the way our politicians are trying to dance around it, but I’ll spare you the diatribe. I am also discouraged at the blindness of a lot of Texans who make sweeping generalizations—“we all know Democrats ruin everything they touch”—without specific support. When people ask why the public keeps voting in officials who don’t correct our problems but only exacerbate them, I can only think of the importance of education, of teaching people to think critically for themselves and not swallow blind platitudes. But I’ll worry about that tomorrow.

Happy Sunday everyone. Take a much-need break!