The sun is still missing. The clouds covering the sky are milky white. It is 48° but damp. There is actually a frost warning. Tonight will get down to the 30’s. What’s going on here? It is mid April, and the gardens are awake. Jack Frost should be sleeping.

Sunday was a wasted day for me when I was a kid. I had to go to church or risk a mortal sin, the one where the milk bottle in the catechism was all black. I always wondered why milk bottles. There were three. One was pure white, the other spotty with black dots, and the third all black. I think mine was spotty.

The one thing I did look forward to every Sunday was dinner. It was the only meal in the whole week we called dinner. It was usually served around two o’clock. It felt special. We were all together. We always had a roast of chicken or beef. My favorite was the roast beef. It was served well done with maybe only a tinge of pink in the middle. My mother made the best gravy with never a lump. I used to make a hole in the middle top of my mashed potatoes for the gravy. I tried not to have the gravy overflow the sides. It reminded me of a volcano. Mostly we had corn or peas. I liked the niblet corn more than the cream corn. I think it was the consistency.

The Sunday newspaper had pages of funnies. My father would read the paper, and I’d lie on the rug and read the comics. I liked The Phantom. I wasn’t a big fan of Prince Valiant. I liked Nancy. I remember the orphans, Dondi and Little Orphan Annie with no eyes. I always thought her a bit creepy, and this was long before the ubiquitous Tomorrow. I never followed Mary Worth, the soap opera. I did follow Lil’ Abner and Snuffy Smith who was funny.

We sometimes went go to East Boston to visit my grandparents. I remember wandering the city with my uncle and walking all the way to Logan to watch the planes. That was my favorite adventure.

My mother always reminded us Sunday night was a school night. It was an early bedtime.