Sunday Morning Coming Down

"And there's nothin' short of dyin', half as lonesome as the sound, on the sleepin' city sidewalks: Sunday mornin' comin' down."
Kris Kristofferson has long been a favourite singer/songwriter/actor of mine. If there was one entertainer I could spend an hour with, it would be him. Though I would be too tongue-tied to talk to him, I would be enchanted just to listen to him talk. I seldom buy CD's anymore, but I just might have to have his new one "Closer To The Bone". (Yes, my birthday is coming up and so is xmas.)
I've had my share of Sunday morning coming downs. Sundays used to be very depressing days for me. I was never quite certain why; whether it was because I knew I had to go back to work the next day or because as Grandma Ridnour used to say, "I'm just a lazy sinner", or what? When the Des Moines Sunday Register still had some real content they published stories meant to be uplifting about people overcoming obstacles to do something meaningful with their lives. Instead of feeling uplifted, I always felt depressed because I was just plodding along doing nothing great.
Grandma R told me one time Sundays were her worst days, too. She said they were so lonesome. That was late in her life. Perhaps she was lamenting her younger years when some of her family members were there for dinner nearly every Sunday.
Her "lazy sinner" comment was one she made often also in her later years when she was unable to do much anymore. Her reply when asked "How do you feel?" was always, "With my fingers."
Sundays aren't as bad for me anymore. Maybe because I'm retired and don't have to go to work the next day. Or maybe because I have accepted that I'm never going to accomplish anything meaningful. Or maybe I believe as I told my son, Doug, this morning when he was talking about doing some of things he has always dreamed of: "It's never too late."