Woman in Blue Sunday Lament

 Most will not read this Sunday lament, because it is a rambling mess of memories but if you do thanks.

“I don't want a religion that I put away with my Sunday clothes, and don't take out till the day comes around again; I want something to see and feel and live day by day.”

― Louisa May Alcott, An Old-Fashioned Girl

Sunday’s, oh Sunday’s I miss what you use to be: They were busy days, from morning to night. They were going to church days, days of rejuvenation for the soul, and the rekindling of family relationships, the fellowship of meals shared together, adult tables, and kids tables, and Mama usually standing by the kitchen sink as she grabbed a quick bite before she cleaned up, washed and dried the dishes and put them away after she had prepared the meal almost done, before they went to church as a family. There was not a lot of complaining, or belly aching it was a day for porch sitting, iced tea drinking and talking with who ever stopped in for a visit, with a bowl of homemade ice cream, or banana pudding, or a slice of watermelon that had been cooling in the creek for a spell, offered up to any and all. Stores was closed, tv was not the most important thing on your mind, and the phone line was shared by your neighbors, you had your own ring, but the conversations was never private because your neighbors could pick up and listen. You always knew because it would gradually get fainter and fainter, till you could not hear. On Sunday the priority was God, church, family, and many times more church in the evening, oh yeah and women wore their Sunday best, and men did too, it was called being respectful to God by honoring Him with the best you had.

Growing up we lived away, because Dad was a military man. When Dad retired from the military, moving the family back to Tennessee, I had just married, a California military man, and stayed behind in Wyoming, and my brother Butch, came back to attend The University of Wyoming in the Fall, while we were still stationed there. Our parents and the two brothers that were still at home, Jim and Andy, returned to Tennessee and started attending 2nd Baptist Church, and would go up the hill after church to our Grandmother Corrina’s house for Sunday dinner, every Sunday. My Dad was tickled to finally get to share those Sunday’s with his Mama after so many years away, and she was glad for the company and getting to be with them too. They were laid back days, and blessed days for her and them because Sunday was a very lonely day for her for many years, she never drove and relied on others to take her on her errands. When Curt and I moved back to Tennessee before he began his service with TVA, we joined in on the Sunday feasts, as Curt would call them, and they were, but his favorite day at Grandma’s house was on a Monday, when we had to take her for appointment’s or what not, and we would come back and she would commence to pull out little butter tubs of leftover’s from Sunday’s meal, whip up a pan of cornbread cooked on her giant wood burning kitchen stove, set out a pitcher of ice cold water from the well and it was a feast like none other.

Years later when Curt and I moved back to east Tennessee permanently, and started attending St. Andrews UMC, I took up the Sunday meals, and whoever was available would come and gather around our table after church. I was never quite as capable as Grandma in the kitchen, but there was usually very few leftovers for Monday! Sundays were filled with worship, food, family and Sunday evening bible study. A day when at the end of the day you felt totally complete and prepared for the days ahead.

Sunday’s 2021 are unfortunately not what they use to be, for me and most of those I know. There has been a lot of back-sliding, is what Mom and Dad’s fire and brim stone Preacher Williams, would have said, and I cannot disagree or challenge that thought. I long for those long-ago Sunday’s, for Sunday early dinner meals, after preaching, gathered around the table, for home cooking, adults snickering at some private joke and children running around and laughing. Most Sunday’s I eat out at some restaurant or another, unless it is a family get together meal sit down, which happens when schedules permit. I just do not have the desire to cook and face the lonely emptiness of the family table, it makes Sunday for me the loneliest day of the week.

Today I felt a little inspired to cook up an old timey home cooked meal, with my fresh vegetables from the local farmers Monday Mtn. Naturals. I broke the beans, stewed them up in some water and salt, with a dash of sugar, a little bit of lean meat, until they were almost liquid free, sautéed the squash, fried up a pan of Mama’s Woodshed potatoes with onion, sliced the tomato, pared the cucumbers and kohlrabi, made a fruity white Sangria and tired out my new grill with a couple of bacon wrapped filet’s for eating now and later. Thanked the LORD, blessed the plentiful bounty, and ‘blessed the cook’, as Oliver always use to pray, put the leftovers in little tubs for Monday’s feast day and said thanks to Grandma Corrina Wallace Johnson, for standing beside me in the kitchen today, reminding me about those wonderful family filled Sunday’s around her table.

Today I was busy, not lonely, and well fed. I am blessed. When I was talking to Uncle Ronnie on Friday, at The Veteran's home where he now resides, one of the things he mentioned was "he always looked forward to Sunday’s back when he and Aunt Hede had their home up on the Clinch, because their house was always filled with family", Hede offered up hospitality and meals and a funny way of saying the English language combined with her German, and that never changed!. He said"he would like to have those days to experience once again", and I said "yes, dearest Uncle", "I would too!"

“Sunday is the perfect day to refuel your soul and to be grateful for each and every one of your blessings.”