Sunday, June 4, 2017

Writing on a Sunday

June 4, 2017

Writing on a Sunday

Writing on a Sunday is . . . 

Writing on a Sunday is like being . . . 

Writing on a Sunday is as different from writing on a Monday, a Tuesday, a Wednesday, a Thursday, a Friday, or even a Saturday as it is from writing on an extra day of the month. I liken it to writing on a 32nd. It's just that indescribable, but it's definitely memorable, pleasurable, desirable, and worth repeating as necessary. Sundays feel like the world is truly at rest, stress-free, more livable, and it has extra little pockets of peace-filled time. 

I remember the first time I heard Willie Nelson sing about how there's something about a Sunday that makes a body . . . "Sunday Morning Coming Down!" That's it. Kris Kristofferson wrote that! Who knew and didn't tell me? Okay, I've said it before but can you pretend this is the first time I've ever written about how a Sunday makes me feel. Thanks in advance.

. . . 
On a Sunday morning sidewalk
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down
In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing
Then I headed down the street
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing
And it echoed through the canyons
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday

Everytime I heard the song on the radio, in my mind's eye, I saw a cowboy walking down a country road all on his lonesome, boots in need of resoling, kicking up dust, headed to his mama's house--flat broke, and busted like an old rodeo clown left behind when the rodeo left town. Always turns out he's in his hometown . . . But home is where they don't mind taking you in. *laughing* Only in Texas? 

So. Feeling alone does not have to be lonesome. Coming home feels good. You know that at the end of the day there'll be peace and quiet, and a sleep that's deeper than death, waiting to embrace you in your old childhood bed.

Sundays were always good back home. I hated Sunday school and church, the preacher stopping by like I hadn't already gotten my fill of him up in the pulpit, but there he was at Grandma Annie's every time the church doors opened and he had to make an appearance. I liked seeing all my cousins who lived in Jasper too . . . My aunts and uncles, all the Sunday company, sitting on the front porch, gazing up at the great big sky  visible through all those pine trees, and thanking God we were all together again.

The food? Oh, the food we ate! The food made up for the faltering start. Did I mention how much I disliked Sunday school and church? I loved the choir though! I didn't know all the words to a single hymn, I couldn't carry a tune either, but I loved hearing everyone sing. That Bonnie Lou Williams played that old piano like she'd been born to it. Aunt Annie sang many a solo with kith and kin for backup. Half the choir was related to us. So how did I miss the musical gene? 

I especially liked Communion Sundays. That Welch's grape juice and flat bread were like digestive stimulants--a digestive biscuit with a grape chaser. Those little bits of sustenance made my stomach growl in answer to awakened gastric juices. Communion? The rite had nothing to do with communing with anyone except the stomach on the pew next to you; it just made me want church to be over that much sooner. I wanted dinner! 

Backing up:

. . . there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down

How Kris knows anything about dying being lonesome is still a mystery to me, in case you wondered too. But moving on . . .

I haven't written a single letter today or tonight, and it's 11:22 PM here. I did write two letters last night however. Tonight has been about making envelopes and labels. There's a paper mess that needs cleaning as a result, but it can wait, because there is always a paper mess that gets cleaned before bedtime on a Sunday night. There's just something about a Sunday that encourages creation.  

Used my last breast cancer awareness stamp. Affixing it brought with it a measure of peace. I won't have to worry about losing another loose stamp now. Somehow the single looses always manage to slip through invisible cracks.

Used my last non-machinable stamp too. I guess you might say I set it free. *grin*

A folded envelope. Made from part of a leaf bag. A Kroger bag? I forgot to take a picture of the fun little sheet of bag therapy stationery, but it's private, so enough said, right? It was a "Hey, how you doing?" kind of communique. Sometimes I miss a pen friend who's gone silent. There've been too many of those lately. Too many abandoned and neglected letter blogs. Much cause for concern. Please know that we miss you. And we hope you're just having too much fun to sit down and write. But soon?

I get a pleasurable kick out of these folded envelopes. They leave themselves open to an ocean of creative possibilities. I'll tell you more about some of mine tomorrow. Better yet? It'll be a show-n-tell. I have to clean up before I hang up the day. It's 11:38 now and it's time to play beat the clock.

Be well. I hope you went to church, temple, mosque, or caught a service on tee-vee. Or not. I hope you said a prayer for me. What? You wrote me a letter instead? Answered prayers?  *very toothy grin*

Be well.

P.S.  I believe a Sunday feels so blessedly peaceful and alone because of all the prayers that vibrate through the week, then consolidate on the one day. You know? They sort of gather themselves and meet up on the least busy day of the week. Amen.


  1. what a lovely post . I still go to church but I do believe you can talk to God anywhere , anytime and you don't have to always be in church to talk to God . I mean God created the world right ? so in essence the whole world is his house . I love the post . take care be well and I will do the same .

  2. ty so much received the pkg ...again thank you and watch your mailbox in a week or so cause I am sending something special your way take care my dear and stay well ....