I love Sundays. It is my favorite day of the week. Although I do work around the house on Sundays, I feel especially virtuous doing it, because Sunday is supposedly a day of rest. Therefore, if I am not resting but instead working, it is sort of "bonus" work, which is extra-good, if you will.
When I was 10 years old, my family still attended church on Sundays. I think it was waning, however. We stopped attending church regularly some time in the following years; I am not sure exactly when. At 10, I think I was still attending Grace Baptist Church. My most vivid memories of those Sundays were of being excruciatingly bored through the sermons, and having to be very quiet nonetheless. Your typical childhood church experience. I also recall the great joy of church being over! The rest of Sunday would have been spent at home, playing in or outside, perhaps a family dinner. Maybe not idyllic, but certainly pleasant enough.
When I was 20 years old, I was in college in Philadelphia. Sunday was the last day of weekend, usually spent studying and partying. So I would be wrapping up both, no doubt. Or continuing both, depending on how you look at it. I suppose I liked Sundays. No classes, no job...at that point I worked on-campus during the weekdays. So Sunday truly could be a day off, yet there was no strong urge to dread the coming week.
When I was 30 years old, I was a working gal. I was also getting divorced, so Sundays probably were spent largely alone. It wasn't a happy time in my life at all. Sunday may have been one of the worst days, but only because it was part of the weekend. For that matter, Sunday might have been good in the sense that I knew the work week was coming; when I could go to work and forget my troubles for a while!
When I was 40 years old, I was a working mother, and I was pregnant with child # 2. Then I had child # 2! So, first Sundays were a whirl of house care and child care and preparation for the work week, and squeeze in a little rest there too, if possible. Sundays were the DAY OF DREAD. I did not like Sundays when I was 40. Rather I HATED Sundays when I was 40, at least while I was working. I knew what was coming. The M word. Leaving my son was heart wrenching, especially on Mondays. So by Sunday evening, the awful feeling would be welling up inside of me. Later, after the baby came, Sundays were just a blur, of course, marked only by a greater presence of hubby.
And now I am 50. And now, Sunday is my favorite day of the week. Mainly because I don't have to get up and go to a job on Monday morning. Also because everyone else I live with generally does leave the house on Monday. Then I get to have some time for whatever! I love them, I really do! But sometimes they are so loud and intense that I can not even hear myself think!
That is why I love Sundays. Because it is like a clean slate, a new start to the week, a day of rest or not, a time to start anew.
I wonder what Sundays will be like when I am 60?