Sunday, February 15, 2009


In search of a topic today, I utilized my recent fascination for commenting on the day itself. My Superstition post was sparked by it being Friday the 13th. I had a Valentine's Day post planned yesterday, but my automatic posting thingy inside the blogger thingy posted my Deadtown piece before I could turn it off or delay it to another day. I have put off posting it for at least a couple of weeks. I kept fiddlin with it. I guess Blogger got fed up with my continued bumping of it and published it fer chrisakes.

I was going to remove the Deadtown post, but noticed BBC had posted a couple of comments regarding the length of the post and how I was failing to score with my woman. So, I left it and shit-canned the Valentine's Day post. I mean BBC took all that time out of his day to not read the post and then comment on that fact, I figured it would be impolite to remove something he had no interest in.

So earlier today I decided today's post would be about Sunday. Funny how many of the things we take for granted, we know so little about. Sunday, one of the seven days of the week. Stuck between Saturday and Monday, it holds a very unique place in the week, our lives, our history. There are many versions of it's origins, and many different roles it has played as it evolved into the day it is today. Wiki covers it in their usual way, so I won't get into regurgitating that which they have already done. Hit the link if you want the history.

When I was a kid, Sunday was one of the two days a week I did not have to go to school. But of the two weekend days, Sunday definitely sucked hind tit to Saturday. Saturday was morning cartoons, afternoon matinees down to the Rialto, or often the beginning of a cool overnight trip somewhere. Sundays were okay, but they often started off on the wrong foot with, yeah, school. Sunday School. Damn, I hated Sunday School. Since I lived so many different places as a child, my discontent ranged from tolerating it to out and out rebelling. I would often sneak off and ruin my Sunday School duds by getting into some illegal dirty kid stuff. I think I was the target for more parental tempers on Sundays than any other day of the week.

This traditional five days on, two days off thing went on right through my college days, only they became five days of school, two days of work. Suddenly Sunday was not a day of rest and relaxation, but a day I used to try and put some jingle in my pocket or someone else's pocket. Sunday had now morphed into just another day of the week and put the final touch on my general outlook on the passing of time, SSDD (Same Shit Different Day).

I continued my efforts of burying Sunday deep into the seven day week by going on the road driving trucks. On the road, Sunday became my favorite work day. I would do my driving at night or early in the morning whenever possible and lay up somewhere during daylight to allow as many four wheelers the luxury of not having to exist on the same highway as I did. There is definitely something to the idea of "Sunday Drivers". Returning home from whatever distraction they have been involved in often made them less than attentive to driving a straight or coherent line. I avoided the super slab on Sundays during the day.

I have worked hard my whole adult life to make Sunday my day. I don't give it to the Lord. I figure he has a big enough fan base. Another slacker will not matter. Besides, two hours spent with head bent and hands clasped asking forgiveness from some being I have no idea even exists seems odd. Two hours a week will not purge whatever sins I committed the previous 166 hours. He wants a break down then let him monitor me. And besides, we all know we are sinners. Do we even think he doesn't? Going to church seems like telling him something he already knows.

It was not until I found the one leisure activity that would dictate my last 20 years on this planet that Sunday truly became a special day for me. Sunday became my day to ride my bike. I may have ridden on other days of the week, but those rides were squeezed in and around the other activities that filled the week. Anything done on Sunday was wrapped around "The Sunday Ride". For basically 17 years this has been my routine. Not every Sunday, but enough so that when I do not ride, a deep sense of guilt settles in. Maybe something like what the faithful feel when they cannot or do not go to church.

The Sunday Ride became my vehicle of worship. The great outdoors, my church. The wind, sun, rain became the sermons I listened to as I struggled to make it from someplace to no place in particular. Stopping for a moment at some post card spot. Taking in the magnificent view of a world at peace in that place for that moment would bring peace and magnificence to my soul. The Sunday Ride became my religion, my time to regain my center.

In the last couple of years it seems I have suffered a loss of faith. As my bike shop began to circle the drain, my lack of enthusiasm for it began to taint my love of the sport. The Sunday Ride began to become a chore. It began to look a lot like work. An obligation I would often fulfill but without any zeal. I would still enjoy the ride, but I often came back without that feeling of replenishment, purged stress, whatever it is/was that eats at me most days of the week.

Life is all about new beginnings. I am sure that is why we are given more time than is necessary to just keep the species going. We have new possibilities and second chances pop up with every sunrise. So, after I finish this and before I post, I am pulling out "The Blizzard" and going for a ride. Forget the fuckin bike shop. It will do what it is going to do. Forget the past, the future, the now for a hour or so. Maybe I will come back having regained or come close to that center thing I miss so badly.

Keep it 'tween the ditches..........

(1112 / 13,697)


BBC said...

In search of a topic today,

Really? I have posts that I haven't even gotten to yet. I have posts that haven't been posted yet, posts that I haven't had time to write yet.

But I don't sit around writing fiction. :-)

Anonymous said...

Ahhhh. BBC's entire brain is fiction. Anyway, I have always hated Sundays and could never put my finger on why. When I was part of the work force, Sunday was always the day of mourning. I couldn't even enjoy the day preceding the day that I'd have to go to work and do something that was killing me.

When no longer in the work force, Sunday had no meaning. No mourning. No "something to look forward to" has EVER occurred on a Sunday.

Then we started going to church, which turned SATURDAY into my day of mourning because it was suddenly "the day before" I had to do something I didn't want to do.

As for your bike riding, it seems that we humans end up hating anything that becomes set in stone. Another "should" in our lives.

AirmanMom said...

this is my first visit to your blog, thanks to dana! I, too am adjusting to the empty nest stage of life! I'll be back to read you again soon!