I am old enough to remember when Sunday was a day that was very different from all the other days in the week, and not just because of church in the morning.
Of course, church was itself a ritual. My earliest memories involve my "Sunday clothes" -- an archaic concept nowadays because nobody dresses up for church any more, right? In the Episcopal high church of my early childhood, women and girls had to wear dresses and head coverings to church. Women always wore hats, and often gloves. I had white gloves and little purses, and every Easter there was an Easter Dress. Women were trussed up and made up and hair was teased up. In the 1960's a woman appearing in public without a girdle was really frowned upon. Watching my mom struggle into her girdle was enough to make me fear my future, because it was a very athletic endeavor.
The struggle over my Sunday head covering was omnipresent. I wore little hats, or sometimes a big hairbow would do, or in a pinch, Mom had lace doilies she would pin on both our heads.
In fact, for years, Mother carried in her purse a lace doily for her head and one for mine, in case we were somewhere and suddenly needed to duck into a church for some reason.
Lace Doily + bobby pin = respect for God
I must admit, I never understood why covering my hair was important. I can be quite respectful without that, but as a kid it was just what everybody DID.
That, plus patent leather Mary Jane's or saddle oxfords.
One of Dad's bosses attended the same church and he loved to pick me up and slop sugar on me -- how do you like that Southernism?! -- and the shoe polish always got on his good suits until he told Mother to quit polishing my shoes on Sunday.
Mother was under the added strain of not wearing makeup or eating, because you had to not eat before you took communion, in those days. I don't remember the reason. Of course, kids could eat. Perhaps that's why after church on Sunday most Episcopal churches have tables set up with coffee, tea, donuts or pastries, etc.
Perhaps it's also why sermons in our church tend to be pretty short. My Dad hated long sermons and when he was ushering, if the priest went on too long, in Dad's opinion, he'd look up to see Dad glaring at him and tapping his watch impatiently. I think Dad always got away with it because he always worked tirelessly for any church where he was a member. He was a mover and a shaker -- exactly the guy you wanted at your church, despite the watch tapping.
Sunday was also about staying home, because most stores and places were closed on Sundays, due to the blue laws. Forget buying anything alcoholic, anywhere. There was an expectation that Sunday was a day of rest.
However, there were a few things you could do. I remember Sundays in Atlanta going to the airport to watch the planes come in and out. That was considered a fun thing to do. Of course, the airport wasn't the parking nightmare filled with security that it is now. For a glimpse of how it used to be, check out 25 Amazing Photos of Atlanta Airport in 1956.
Another thing folks did, especially if they were in a small town, was to go eat at the hospital. If all other restaurants were closed, and/or there was a long line at Howard Johnson's, or you didn't feel like driving out to the highway to get a hot dog at Stuckey's, the hospital might be your only option. My parents didn't do it, that I recall, because they were picky and liked food with flavor, but a lot of folks thought nothing of eating at the hospital, just for fun.
I loved Howard Johnson's because they had a lot of different ice cream flavors. If I was good and ate my lunch, I could have ice cream for dessert. When I was in 4th grade a girl in my class at school invited all of us to a birthday party in a back room at Howard Johnson's, and my excitement was on the same level as if I'd been invited to the White House.
One of my most vivid memories of my grandmother involved a lunch at Howard Johnson's. Mamaw was sort of a fanatic about wanting coffee REALLY hot. After lunch she ordered a cup of coffee. The waiter brought it, and there was steam coming off of it. Mamaw looked at it and said "This coffee is COLD. Take it back." The waiter looked confused and said something indicating he wasn't going to take it back. He did not jump to do her bidding. Mamaw took the cup of coffee and dumped it in the water glass, and said "There, it's empty now. Bring me some HOT coffee."
I was about 7 years old and I remember that like it was yesterday. Mamaw demanded good service, and you did NOT want to cross her. My mother inherited that, a little bit -- I've seen her fuss at store employees, but always for something legitimate.
Sundays often involved my dad manning the grill. That was often an unpleasant dining experience, as Dad rarely had lighter fluid and usually used charcoal doused with gasoline. He also liked to make flames shoot high into the sky, rending the meat into a charred and inedible mess. He would grill the meat, and Mom prepared everything else we ate, and cleaned up, but the grilling was done in the spirit of helping mom out by not making her cook.
By the same principle, Dad would usually make breakfasts on the weekends. Those meals were always tough sausage [usually links which were turned into building materials] and omelets which could be used as flotation devices. I marvel now at Dad's skill at taking edible food and making it "tough as whit leather."
After breakfast, Dad would retire to the bathroom with the Sunday paper and others would clean up, until time for church.
To be fair, nobody could fry fish like my dad. He could take the smallest fish and fry it beautifully, and then he would filet it and sit and feed me bits of fish that were tender and delicious. I once wrote about it in a poem; each morsel tasting of "Crisco and pond" was my best line.
In later years, Mom and Dad always went to Sam's on Saturdays because they offered free food, and Dad would stuff himself with free food samples in the store. Sometimes he'd go to Home Depot for the free hot dogs. By the time he got home he didn't want to eat for the rest of the day.
I loved Sundays, because after we were out of church, there was an entire afternoon to play and Dad was usually home. On Saturdays he was often not home, either because he was working, or hunting, or running errands. Sunday afternoons were his domain, though.
Sunday nights were usually glum. I would watch the Wide World of Disney and Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom, and Dad would sulk because the weekend was over and he had to return to work the next day.
Sundays in the past. Funny how my memory gets stronger the older I get...
me and Dad in July 1990, in front of his grill, made for him by the guys who put in a pipeline near the house -- it's a piece of pipe
