Sundays

Sundays are not like they used to be.  

Decades ago when the fare for a Sunday afternoon didn’t have any big plans, there was always a plan “B.” My parents lived several sections to the southwest.  We were on the same telephone exchange and a short phone call allowed for the coffee pot to be put on whether I was headed there or if the folks were coming over.  Even though my sister meant a long distance phone call, it was worth it to see if that was a chance for a visit on a Sunday.  She was a five minute drive and most of that time was spent on their one mile long driveway.  If I had struck out with mom and my sister, it was not out of the question to pack up the kids and visit their grandmother in Hector, perhaps fifteen miles away.  Sundays were meant for chitchatting.

Hmm.  All those options are now gone.  I feel the loss.  Dennis’ family members are not great chitchatters.

Left on my own today, I decided to tidy up the laminate flooring in the house with my mighty little shop vac.  The Filter Queen vacuum is the studio’s go to for tidy, tidy.  It is too cumbersome for going up and down steps.  Since the hardwood floor Swiffers have been updated, they aren’t worth the trouble.  They pick up little.  New improved . . . they are not.  Dennis helped with pushing everything around, so the total area could be done in the living room and both bedrooms.  Taking the last bit of breakfast coffee when we were done, I did have to comment how thankful I was that we have no carpeting and that we have a tiny home.  I know that heavy furniture would get moved once in a blue moon and the amount of dust bunnies we found today under the furniture would have been the same volume, just growing month by month.

Dennis wandered to the patio porch and I stirred up a stroganoff for two with some of the pork roast from last night.  Having the evening meal nailed, the next stop was the studio for several hours. 

The way the first minutes went, I questioned if I should stay at it or not.  The first mistake was that I had not tightened the ratchet on the embroidery hoop.  Floating fabric is not a good thing.  The next item to stop the machine was . . . I had not put the bobbin into the machine.  I must say after that, the stitching went well.

Sunday evenings have several good programs on the PBS stations.  I will be planted in my chair after the supper dishes are done.