Sunday. This glorious day one of the week has certainly become one of my absolute favourite, right up there with Friday. One could argue that Sunday is merely the stepping stone into Monday, as that is how I used to feel, especially with my zany hours for work. It used to be that from the moment I awoke on Sunday morning, I found myself continuously counting down the hours until I needed to be in bed in order to get a good night's rest leading into my 4am wake-up call to begin the workweek. Not anymore. No, Sunday has become my unofficial "me" day, and I love everything that the day has come to encompass. Oh, and I know you're probably wondering, "what's with the kale shot up there?" Well, I thought it was pretty.
Sunday has held many different roles in my life, with different purposes,varying levels of importance, and therefore has been a rather abused 24 hours. When I was very young, Sunday morning always involved a trip to church with my mom and sisters, a routine we were brought up in from the get-go. Beginning at 9am, an hour was spent at the chapel, where my mother would smile at us while she sang the songs of the catholic carol book with much passion and vigor, and also gave a stern hush if we got too rowdy in the pews. One of my favourite memories was that of my mom sweetly running her fingers through my hair, as I lay my head on her lap idly passing the time until the the final chorus came. If we were lucky, once the final processional hymn had been sung, it was off to the local coffee shop for a bag of day-old donuts, or if we were really blessed, a half dozen Bismarck pastries, topped with the most delectable white frosting there ever was. Sunday afternoons were most often spent playing with Barbies, gallivanting out in the farmyard, climbing apple trees, horseback riding, or building very architecturally magnificent snow forts in the six foot snow drifts that would form out by the barn.
As I got into my teen years, Sunday mornings turned into nothing more than a day to sleep in as late as possible, and this is when they became nothing more than the day before Monday. A day in which I had the chance to make any last-ditch efforts to finish up homework, catch up on television, or chat on the phone for hours on end, reliving all the happenings of the weekend that was. This was also my chance to dwell in terrible angst and dread about inevitability of having to head back to school the next morning. Once I became a college student, Sundays were entirely wasted days spent lying in bed, on the couch, or in the bathroom, nursing horrid headaches and incurable nausea instilled by Saturday's raucous routine of partying, drinking, and late night dancing.
Today, as a 31 year old woman, my Sunday routine is at it's peak, and I adore everything about the day. Gone are the days of forced sleep-ins, hangovers, and (sorry mom) organized religion. Now, I usually stir well before 7am, often with a distinct desire to get outside and go for run, a thought that invades my consciousness even before my feet hit the hardwood. Other times, the break of dawn involves nothing more than a cup of tea, the newspaper, and the sunrise, followed by hours of puttering away at household chores, crafts, and reading, the day capped off with a lunch time yoga class, nap, and then hours spent cooking in the kitchen. Often I can go through an entire Sunday without uttering a single word out loud. It is superbly centering. Indeed, I have really taken to this "me" time, and am quite reluctant to ever make real plans, as I much prefer to have my few free hours of the week flexible, with the ability to progress organically, spontaneously, and therefore blissfully.
Ah yes. Today has been one of those picture perfect Sundays. After a quiet 6:30am breakfast over one of my favourite reads, it was off to an intense 9:30am Bikram Hot Yoga class, a brisk bike ride home, and then for the rest of the morn, I immersed myself fully in the kitchen prepping meals for the week. This afternoon? Well, I plan to blog, sip tea, do some more reading, and perhaps catch a flick online - will it be a sleepy romantic comedy that I can doze in and out of? Or perhaps if I am feeling more alert, a solid documentary?
Maybe I will watch "Food Inc." once more, and get a head start on my opinion essay that must be written as part of my upcoming "Culinary Nutrition Expert" certification!
Two of today's colourful Sunday salads
Oh dear Sunday, your possibilities are absolutely endless, but for me these days, I desire the minimal. You are, and I hope will remain, my one simple day. My day to chill out, live quietly, and be unreservedly me. No matter what, I will keep on loving you, and will continue to squeeze every last juicy, delicious second from you even as you inch away from me, towards twilight, and eventually tumble out of my grasp completely.
I know you will only be gone for a short time, and that I can look forward to our meeting once again, when you arrive at my door, in just seven short days.