That's probably a leftover reaction from all of the Sundays in
my childhood when we were forced to dress up
in extremely uncomfortable clothes, hats and shoes, then
polished up to be trotted out at church as an example of all
that was wholesome, well raised and doing the right thing.
Art class portrait of a member's wife.
She had an aristocratic air -- a delight to paint
(we attended more than one, because we moved). But early
on my artistic attention deficit disorder was duly noted, and if
we were in a church with too much going on, showy architecture,
sculptures, elaborate gold or over dressed clerics, my parents let me
sit on the floor and colour so I wouldn't be sick. True.
My son, Christopher and his girlfriend, Megan
enjoying a relaxed Sunday breakfast
Long before my teenage life my father quit going, he didn't like being
forced to count the collection plates, and felt like a hypocrite. My
mother stopped going when I was a teenager, which was not that easy
as at that time all of her social life revolved around church.
forced to count the collection plates, and felt like a hypocrite. My
mother stopped going when I was a teenager, which was not that easy
as at that time all of her social life revolved around church.
current rituals, though they are very different from
our childhood routines.
#1 I like to sleep in and read, first the trivial sections of the
Saturday paper, then my novel, then a few magazine articles.
#2 I don't really get moving until I've had my second
coffee.
#3 I loll. I reserve the day for as much relaxation as possible.
#4 I like to take a walk, or drive in the country
#5 I talk to my mother on the phone (a habit ingrained
no doubt from talking on the way to and from
church).
#6 I like a superb dinner, and I don't want to be the
one making it. I can still see my father carving the
Sunday roast with great relish. A special cake or pie
would be waiting in the kitchen. We eat differently
now -- very little red meat, desert not an absolute,
but the feeling remains that Sunday dinner should
be more than packaged pizza.
Of course I'm a teacher, and Sunday like the six other
days of the week is for marking. Today it was essays, and
they gave my other reading material a pretty good run
for the money.
Having just finished the super dinner Steven prepared,
I feel so contented that I could happily call it a Sunday.
But I think I'll finish my marking, make my notes for
tomorrow, and do some of what passes for "colouring"
today -- paint, or draw.
Have a recognizing-the-hefty-depth-of-the-day day.
