SUNDAY AND TAKING IT EASY

SUNDAY AND TAKING IT EASY

A day of rest? For whom, I wonder.

 **

 I remember when I was much younger, stores were closed on Sundays. The bible said it was a day of rest and for the most part, store owners abided. Well, except for the local bakeries, that is.

 Each Sunday, after the church service, many people would head to their local shops for that aromatic, delicious loaf of bread that would last the week – if we were rationing it ourselves.

 My family? We always knew what mom would buy. There were five of us: dad, mom, my older brother, me, and then baby sister. Mom purchased six hard rolls, a loaf of bread, a New York crumb cake and six cheese buns. Good heavens, my brother and I weren’t even close to being teens yet and my sister was even younger than I was. Yet, by Friday, there wasn’t a crumb left. Come the next Sunday, mom’s purchases would mimic the week before.

 There were two supermarkets in the area and one grocery store – all of which were closed on Sunday.

 Our milk, butter and eggs were delivered according to the order placed with the milkman. Mom had hers delivered on a Saturday so we’d be prepared for Sunday.

 If you needed anything else, you were out of luck. As I said, all the stores were closed in observance of the holyday.

 Which brings me to this day and age. We are now decades later and there is very little that’s closed.

 Okay, so our banks and post offices are closed. The Chamber of Commerce office is closed. Schools when in session are closed.

 But our malls are open! Our supermarkets are open. We no longer need the little grocery stores or bakeries since the supermarkets have taken over all those items we loved to pamper ourselves with.

 Unless you live in a very rural area, there are no milkmen delivering your dairy products but then, if your house is that rural, you probably have your own cows and chickens.

 But let’s move on.

 What I never understood, and now as an adult still don’t, if the Sabbath day (whether it be your Saturday or Sunday) is supposed to be a day of rest, why then does that not apply to the housewives?

 We still are responsible to:

make the beds in the morning, cook and serve all the meals, clean up after the meals, wash the dirty dishes, do laundry if needed, tend to the children if they’re too small to take care of themselves.

 Why don’t we get our day of rest?

 I tried that recently. Not making a fuss about it, I sat on the couch with my husband. He was engrossed in something on Netflix (some mind-numbing saga that was about eight episodes long). I asked when he wanted supper and he said, “In a bit.”

 Okay, then, since I have no idea how long a “bit” is, I did not jump up and start cooking.

 Finally, three hours later, by this time it was eight in the evening, he asked, “What’s for supper?”

 While I kept my mouth shut, my mind screamed, “Really? NOW you want to eat? You could have gotten off your butt and cooked something yourself!”

 But, as I said, I kept my mouth shut and sweetly answered, “eggs and hash browns.”

 There was no way I was about to cook the dinner I had planned at eight in the evening.

 I was lucky, though. Although he grunted a disappointment, all he actually said was, “okay.”

 However, I still ended up not having my day of rest. So, when does that happen?

 Oh, yeah, it did happen about five years ago. I had foot surgery and the surgeon told my husband that I was not, absolutely not allowed to put pressure on that foot. I needed to be in a wheelchair for one full month. If I put any pressure on that foot and the tendon ripped even a bit more, I’d be in that wheelchair for six months. So, I did have thirty days of “semi-rest.”

 Semi-rest? While he put the clothes in the washer, then the dryer, once dried, he dumped (yes dumped) the clothes on the couch for me to fold. Then he placed all the folded laundry in my lap and wheeled me into the bedroom so I could help him put the clothes away.

 And cook? How many days can you say take-out? At least some of my friends brought over a few casseroles.

Yet, as I sit here griping about not having a day of rest, I can’t help but look back on history in biblical times. Those women didn’t have a day of rest either. They still had to cook, draw water from a well, sweep the dust-ridden stone floors.

 Guess I have pretty easy.

 I don’t have to make my own bread (unless I choose to). I cook the entire pound of bacon in the oven and then refrigerate. When I want water, I just turn on the faucet. So, yeah, I guess I really don’t have too much to gripe about but, chances of him cooking dinner tonight? How about slim to none?”

 Well, speaking of a day of rest, I think I’ll go plant my butt on the couch and pick up the book my granddaughter suggested I read.

 It may not be a “day of rest” but hey, I’ll take what I can get.