Feels Like Sunday

No matter how many years go by and the past gets further away, I can always tell when it's Sunday. There is a different feeling, and I can be instantly transported back to my childhood and beyond.

I grew up attending a small Lutheran church in Nelson, MN. Our family rarely missed a Sunday. I have fond memories of the people and the routine. My mother almost always made a big dinner on Sundays; often the meal would be cooking while we were in church and finished when we returned home. It could be beef roast, pork roast, spareribs, etc. Whatever it might be, the aroma was a welcome one upon returning home.

There might be a stop at the store for milk and always my dad would pull over to the mailbox and grab the huge Sunday newspaper. After dinner, my dad would barely make it to his recliner before succumbing to his afternoon nap. My mom, of course, would clean up the dishes and then sit on the couch. She would never admit to napping but oftentimes her head would drop. When confronted with it and a suggestion was made to lie down, her answer was always "I'm not sleeping!"

In the evening, there would be a light supper while watching 60 Minutes. In the earlier days, Sunday evening television would consist of Bonanza or The Wonderful World of Disney.

These were not lofty activities, but in my mind and soul, they are priceless. If I could have one wish from the genie, it would be to have a Sunday with my parents.

As time went on, my children enjoyed the same experiences with their grandparents. Now those times are gone, but Sundays will always have a different feeling than the other six days of the week.

Thought for the day: Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow