A Monday memory....

Yesterday, Sunday, one of my neighbors decided to take advantage of the slightly warmer weather and do a little work outside in his front yard.
With a power washer.
For what seemed like a very.... long.... time.

Perhaps I'm just getting old and cranky, but I was really annoyed when I first heard it.

What happened to the Sundays of old?  The"Day of rest." For everyone.

As a child I would rise early Sunday morning and quickly gobble down a bowl of cereal while watching cartoons, (on our black and white TV) in hopes of meeting the minimum three hour requirement of fasting before Church.

Dressing up in our Sunday best, the family would head off for 12:30 Mass.  Driving home, we would make a stop at the Hillsdale bakery for hard rolls (bagels were not yet in fashion) and crumb cake. Two fat bundles of the Sunday papers were also scooped up, one of which held the coveted comics section.

The afternoon would be spent with the papers sprawled out on the living room floor.  This might be followed up with a board game or watching an old movie on TV.  If the weather was warm, my siblings and I would often spend hours on the swing set or head off into the woods, not returning until dinner time.

No shopping at the malls.  No cleaning.  Best of all - no annoyingly loud power tools. 

Just the soothing sounds of nature outside or of family conversation inside.  And quite often, just "The sounds of silence," as Simon and Garfunkel used to croon.

I think there is something to be said for having one day a week when you can completely rest and relax. A day which can be the catalyst to restoring a sense of inner peace, enabling one to tackle the week ahead and all that life has in store.

It could be that my neighbor is far too young to remember those days.
His loss. 
Unfortunately, mine too, it would seem.