When I was young, and for a long time afterward, Sunday afternoons were melancholy. I used to blame it on memories on my father retiring alone to his study to listen to classical music. I didn’t like classical music. It made me uneasy…I didn’t like the closed door.
But I think something else was going on. The span of a week is a reminder of the finite, even to the young. And powerful Sunday, which starts out fat and lazy, stretching endlessly ahead, dwindles to a wisp, and just like that, it’s over.
~ Abigail Thomas, Thinking About Memoir
Notes:
- Photo: Brooke J with “fading light“
- Related Posts: Abigail Thomas
Live & Learn 
So true, I love my Sunday’s and they do dwindle to a wisp and end….
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or you could see it as a beginning, a doorway to what’s coming next –
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Certainly a better way to look at it…
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I agree with ksbeth, I see Sunday’s as a beginning.
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Mary, your approach is certainly on a higher and better plane of thinking…
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