I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone."
Johnny Cash sure did know how to sing a depressing tune or two, didn't he?? "Johnny One-Note" my Dad used to call him but he sure did like his music; a lot of people did because he sang about a lot of the not-so-nice things in life that a lot of artists avoided. I mean, come on, who else would sing about Folsom Prison or the porter on a railroad train? Johnny Cash just didn't sing happy-go-lucky songs (heck, even A Boy Named Sue might have had a jaunty beat but wasn't what you'd call a happy song!).
Anyhow, I'm not feeling like a recovering alcoholic or drug addict or anything this morning but Sundays just have never been the same since my grandfather died way back in August of 1972. Prior to that, Sundays were always the best day of the week because it meant church with Gramp followed by the big family Sunday dinner at his house. Aunts, Uncles, Cousins - everyone was there along with the best roast beef this side of the Connecticut River! You never felt alone on a Sunday when Gramp was alive - you felt like a member of a big, happy family and I, for one, felt totally loved and accepted.
These days, if I'm not working on a Sunday then I'm just hanging around the house catching up on everything that I didn't do during the rest of the week. Fun stuff like laundry, vacuuming, dusting, etc., etc. Yee-freakin'-ha. And Sunday dinners certainly don't exist and haven't for years and years. And even though I miss the roast beef and crazy-colored icing on the cake that Gramp always made, I miss the man himself even more and that hasn't stopped since he died. A kid couldn't have asked for a better grandfather than the one I had and even though he was ready to die when his time came, I sure wasn't ready for him to. I was only 13 for crying out loud ... there should have been a lot more years to bask in the unconditional love that he gave me, to be called "Linnie" by the one person that I didn't mind it from, and to sit by his side at church and just feel prouder than punch to know that he was my grandfather. Heck, I guess that explains some of why I don't even like to go to church anymore (well, that and I'm a lazy Christian if you ask my dear ex-husband!). Well, that and my views on God don't exactly fit into your normal church atmosphere either but that would take up another whole entry and then some!
So, anyhow, it's another Sunday morning with no roast beef to look forward to, no one's lap to sit on, and no cousins to spend the afternoon running around the fields that surrounded Gramp's house with. You would think by my age I would have put that behind me by now but Johnny was right - there definitely is something in a Sunday "that makes a body feel alone".