“Time flows in a strange way on Sundays.”

Today is lovely and warm, okay, warmish, at 48˚. The breeze is every now and then. The deep blue sky has white, puffy clouds, cumulous I think, close to the horizon. They remind me of the clouds I used to draw and color with my white crayon, one of that crayon’s few uses other than Santa’s beard. I think I did my best work in clouds.

I tempted fate earlier and went to get my paper without wearing my sweatshirt. My arms were cold. I hurried. Today is dump day, and I will be appropriately clad.

My pick up trash stick, with a nail at one end, is being delivered today. All I need is an around my shoulder trash bag, an orange jump suit and a sheriff’s car following me.

When I was a kid, Sunday was different from all other days. It had a tinge of the sacred about it. The day started with my wearing a dress and my Sunday shoes to mass. In those days we all dressed for mass. I remember wearing a lace mantilla instead of a hat. I also remember seeing women with white Kleenex on their heads, their version of hats. Bobby pins kept the Kleenex attached. The Kleenex perplexed me.

We used to hang around the house watching TV and waiting for dinner. I always loved our Sunday dinners. They were the special meals of the week. We usually ate around two, the magic hour. We always had mashed potatoes. My mother made gravy from the roast drippings, and I remember making a hole, more of an indentation, on the top of the mound of potatoes to hold the gravy. It was a bit of a contest between me and the potatoes.

Sunday was a family day. The stores, except for a few corner stores and a gas station here and there, were closed. In the winter we visited my grandparents on some Sunday afternoons. They lived in East Boston. I remember my father dropping the rest of us off while he hunted for a parking space. In summer, we often went to the beach for the day. Sometimes we went on a Sunday ride. My father always took back roads, never the highway for those rides. I remember farms and cows and horses. I remember stopping for ice cream at one of the local creameries. My father loved vanilla ice cream. I had no allegiance to any flavor. I loved sugar cones the best even though they often developed a dripping hole at the point of the cone. I usually didn’t realize there was a hole until the ice cream dripped on my shirt. I remember putting my finger on the hole to keep it from dripping. I felt like the Dutch boy with his finger in the hole of the dike.

Bedtime was early on Sundays. We’d watch TV, lots of western back then, and beg my mother to let us stay up a bit later, but we never won that argument no matter how cogent we were. It was a school night was all my mother had to say. We dragged our feet all the way upstairs to bed.

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8 Comments on ““Time flows in a strange way on Sundays.””

  1. Bob Says:

    Hi Kat,

    Yet another beautiful, cloudless, blue sky. Right now the temperature is a balmy 88° and forecasted to hit 90° by four o’clock. Summer is right around the corner after we get some more rain in April and May.

    Today we skipped Chinese food and went for Mexican. We had Chinese on Thursday night.

    Sundays were the day that both my mother and later my aunt didn’t cook dinner. We either went out for dinner or brought in takeout from the neighborhood deli. When I lived with my aunt and uncle in New York’s borough of Queens, my cousin would drive my aunt, uncle and us, they never learned to drive a car, on a day trip to somewhere out on Long Island. We usually wound up on the Sunrise Highway at a huge Nathan’s famous hot dog stand. Yes the annex from the hot dog stand in Cony Island Brooklyn. The place had a huge beer garden in the back and we would scarf down hot dogs, fries, and sometimes fried clams. I recall that the place was always jammed on a nice, sunny, Sunday afternoon.

    • katry Says:

      Hi Bob,
      The clouds ended up taking over, and the wind got heavy which made it feel colder. The dump is always colder anyway so I postponed the dump.

      I like Mexican, but there is no decent Mexican restaurant around me. There used to be in Wellfleet which is a ride from me, but I didn’t care. I wanted Mexican.

      That’s a great Sunday memory. I love hot dogs, and the beer garden sounds great. I bet they tasted better after the ride. My mother was in her mid 30’s before she got her license. She had to depend on my father or her feet if she was shopping locally. I don’t know why she took so long.

    • Bob Says:

      Well we hit 92°F. That’s 33.33°C.:-)

      • katry Says:

        That is so wrong. It is only Match. I fear for your summer heat.

      • Bob Says:

        We will have cooler days in the next couple of months. After all we are on the same latitude as the Sahara desert.

      • katry Says:

        That is crazy. I’ll take winter over temperatures that high so early.

  2. lilydark Says:

    Hi Kat,
    I’ve never been fond of Sundays, cause Monday follows it. In the winter, they had blue laws, where stores couldn’t be open on Sundays, so my parents weren’t working. In the summer- they worked every day ( except if it were sunny, we were at the beach).
    Grinning about your orange jumpsuit!
    It seems to be colder today than usual– and windy.
    Woof to the dogs, a meow to your cat.
    Take Care,
    Lori and Ms. Cookie

    • katry Says:

      HI Lori,
      This state had Blue Laws for the longest time. We were one of the last states to abolish them and allow Sunday store openings. They started with allowing stores to open at noon during the Christmas season. I was sorry the state allowed Sunday to be like any other day.

      When the wind blew today, it was cold. I stayed home and even took a nap.

      I got my stick today but no orange jump suit!!

      Stay well,
      Kat and the Gang


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