Easter Sunday was perfect. The weather was warm and sunny, and I got to sit on the deck for a while and drink coffee and read the papers. Dinner was sumptuous, and our table was at a window overlooking the ocean. We stayed for the longest time eating and talking and toasting the day, the dinner and each other. Last night the Red Sox were down 5-1 in the fifth, but my boys of summer rallied that inning and the next three to beat the Yankees 7-5. It was a heart pounding opening day. I must slept with a smile on my face.

I used to dread Mondays. When the alarm sounded at 5:15, I’d bemoan my fate as I dragged myself out of bed. It was always dark. The house was cold. No lights were lit anywhere. The rest of the world was still cozy and asleep. Now, Mondays are like any other day. Take today for instance. This morning I woke to the sounds of birds coming through the open window in my bedroom. The sun was shining. I could see blue sky through the tree tops as I was lying in bed trying to decide if I was ready to get up yet. Gracie was asleep beside me. When I decided it was time, I came downstairs, made some coffee and went out on the deck. Gracie was romping in the yard. I stayed a while and admired the morning.

Hating Mondays was never a kid thing. Back then, I took days and events as they came. I went to bed when I was told and got up when my mother woke me. Life was five days of school and two days of fun. If I didn’t feel good, I stayed home; it was no big deal. Besides, summer was the reward for a year of school. Even in college I didn’t worry about Mondays. I had a late class and summers I worked from noon to nine at the post office. I got to play at night and sleep in the next morning.

My first adult job was in the Peace Corps. Roosters crowing in the backyard were my alarm clock. I drank my coffee sitting on the front steps and greeting small children as they went by on their way to school. I could see a baobab tree and rows of millet. I watched women carrying stuff on their heads as they went to market. Every day was precious, including every Monday.

I figure it was working for a living that finally made Mondays odious. I had to work five days just to get two days off and never thought that fair. An alarm became a necessary intrusion. Mondays followed a weekend of going to bed late and getting up when I wanted, of doing nothing if that was my choice so I quickly learned to dread them. I didn’t know a single person who liked Mondays.

I retired on my birthday which was a Tuesday. On the Monday before, the alarm went off, and I sprang out of bed. I knew it was the last odious Monday.