SUNDAY, SUNDAY...SO GOOD TO ME...

I used to love Fridays the best, especially during my years in the paid workforce, especially when I was younger and TGIF held more promise than a night of binge-watching Netflix in my Jammie-clothes.  Fridays always felt like a party and often ended in one.  Friends gathering, Happy Hour, Date Night...all that stuff felt spontaneous and fun and vibrant and carefree.  Friday had just turned 21!

Then kids came along and my TGIF meant I was no longer single parenting, when Hub was generally home with us and not at work or other evening obligations, and I had some help with the boys who had run me ragged all week.  It was pizza night or movie night or family swim night with friends and their kids.  I was still "working" but not alone on the job.   Friday flirted with being a Partier, but was much more tired and a little more tattered.

Later, Friday was a respite from a calendar chockfull of evening obligations to attend groups and meetings.  We were involved in so many things in the community, our church, personal growth events that nearly every night of the workweek was scheduled.  On Friday we took a breath.  Sometimes.  Friday was middle-aged and trying to just keep time until Monday when it would all start again.

After retirement, Friday still has a burnished glow, a reminiscence of old times with the feel of a holiday, but it's not the beacon of light and relief it once was.  It's not all that different from the other nights.  We bid out granddaughter goodbye and clean up the house of all evidence of a two year old having taking over on Thursday and Friday on our Papa-Care and Granny-Nanny days.  We high-five each other for having made it through another week; we cook dinner, we watch Rachel Maddow, we watch some TV show or movie we've recorded earlier in the week, we go to bed at 10:00.  Friday is growing older; getting quieter, but still up for a laugh or two, if not a full guffaw.  Definitely not a party; more like a deep sigh.  I like Fridays, but...

Now, my favorite day is Sunday.  There are no expectations of Sunday.  Sunday dawns with no plan and no commitment.  Sunday is a blank slate.  Sunday is there to make and mold and become whatever I decide it will be.   Since I left my church two years ago, I don't even have to get up and make myself presentable for public view, don't have to be somewhere at a certain time, nor stay late for a social gathering or committee meeting.  Sundays used to be "half-days" since by the time we got home it was 1:00 or after.  Now I get a full, long, luxurious day to .... do nothing much at all.

So, I don't have much to show for my Sundays -- by design.  I give myself permission to be flat-out lazy.  In the fall, like now, I throw on my Seahawks hoodie with a pair of yoga pants, grab a cup of coffee, read the paper, scroll through Facebook, meditate.  Then I might make some pancakes - a Sunday treat - and chat with Hub over late breakfast.  By early afternoon we get snacks ready and watch the Seahawks game together.  Then I might read, crochet, decide when to watch our Sunday night programs -- choosing among our current Sunday night line-up of Outlander,  John Oliver, Parts Unknown, and returning next week, Good Behavior.  We don't watch them all, of course...we save some for mid-week.  But the point is, Sunday is a day of slovenly rest for me (but a workout for my DVR).   Sunday is chill.  Sunday is contentment.  Sunday is me being in the flow of "being" with no agenda.  I guard my Sundays with a pit bull's intensity.  My calendar rarely has anything scheduled and if so, it's with some reluctance and regret at times.

I remember the excitement of Friday -- like the wind in my hair on the back of a motorcycle.  But for now, give me a Sunday -- a mug of coffee, a warm blanket, and my remote control.

At least, that's the view from here...©