Reading Nancy Drew mysteries, walking the dangerous black pipe across the creek, crawling through a larger pipe...these are a few drops from pails full of memories carried from ages eight or nine to now. I love every one of them. In those years, I enjoyed simple things while day-dreaming. I loved Sundays, too.Sundays stand out with their beginnings... the quick dash to reach church on time, with my parents. After church, home to eat. Then, free time totally without guilt over "doing nothing." I would stay in and listen to radio or read...or both at same time, or explore just beyond our house in the woods that hid a truly low-warbling creek. I knew its bends, wide and narrow sandy places, and the large, fallen tree limbs that stayed. The woods were completely wild, natural, and unswept places.
About three or four o'clock on Sunday afternoon, my parents would take a drive to who knew where. I often chose to go along, expecting the usual stop for ice cream. Later, before supper or after, my mother would take a walk, our spaniel dog and striped cat following in line. I would do...whatever. Nothing important needed doing.
We rested on Sundays, even Mother, who had prepared ahead. We enjoyed that one day different from all the others of the week. I'm enjoying now just remembering and writing about it. With a few easy clicks, I can share it online. Otherwise, today I'll do no texting, emailing, or internet searching. I'll just rest: watch another March Madness game and eat ice cream with love of my life, then walk Lucie-dog, and whatever else....
Sunday = the Good News + rest.