Sunday Pleasures

Just when I thought I might be spending the day with only my book and knitting for company, along came my Felixstowe friends all cultured out and needing to be revived with cups of tea and some of yesterday’s gingerbread followed by David and Luca on their way back from town.

Sunday is a difficult day for widows (how I hate that word). The family are usually busy with children, and friends are busy with their husbands, leaving us at a disadvantage.

It was so different when I was growing up. Sunday was the day that duty called and grandparents, then latterly parents expected company from the younger generation. How many boring Sundays have I had to spend in the past, whiling away Sunday afternoons in elderly company when I’d rather be doing something else. I felt so trapped by duty that I told my children that I did not expect them to feel the need to come and see me on a Sunday unless it was what they wanted.That of course is all well and good until I am left to my own devices.

I well remember in the dark old days of my youth when no shops or leisure facilities were open on the Sabbath and even activities such as knitting were frowned upon by my grandfather, such was the idea that it was the day of rest.

Anyway, this Sunday turned out to be very jolly and enjoyable.