Sunday Morning Meditation


One of the lessons in my life about Relaxing Sundays came from my gandmother in the first decade of my life. Sunday morning was to be slept in. Sunday morning was to be spent with coffee and newspaper around the kitchen table, a quiet inside each own’s with an occasional piece read out loud or commentary made, the rustle of the pages turned. Fingers stained with ink, spoon against china, I remember that sound…clink clink. At that age I remember play, but I also remember my grandparents enjoying reading in their sunroom, maybe a little time tending their garden but all the tough work had been done the day before. That’s what Saturday was for. Order.

Life still had order then. Sunday dinner would be my grandmothers famous sandwich spread. This was the one day she did not cook a full meal with several courses. But as well as I remember always loving her cooking, I so very strongly remember these times the most. I remember how beautiful and elegant and extensive her sandwich dinners seemed to me, her easy no fuss day off dinner still carried a great skill….to make it look like you did more than you did when entertaining guests. Give them the spread that looked like you saved but be sure you had plenty of time to enjoy and not fuss.

It’s weird what sticks into our brains as children but I carry this with me now as an adult. Sunday may mean guests and friends and family and full food spreads enough to feed an army, but Sundays were also strictly for enjoying and relaxing, even if entertaining. Now sometimes those Sunday sandwich dinners only consisted of my grandmama, papa, Kate, and myself but even then I could tell that my grandmother was magic in ways that a woman can be. Lessons learned. Sunday was sacred relaxing time to be enjoyed. And one can do a lot without hours of hot stoves and stressing. And be just as tasty. Just an enjoyed and sometimes for a woman in her thirties decades later, most memorable. Lessons are also not always told and taught but simply shown and routine.


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