Good Old Days

Oh those lazy long Sunday before my Dad found "the Lord" and my sister "converted" me were truly cherished. One has never experienced a proper lazy Sunday unless you've experienced growing up on a farm. Growing up on a farm was not an easy childhood for the most part. You were expected to complete your chores on a timely daily basis. You were expected to do your part, not to learn a lesson, but because your family depended on you as an integral working cog for mere survival.

But Sundays…ahhh slow Sundays were truly observed as a day of rest. Sure there were the typical chores that needed to be done on a daily basis, but in general, it was a day to take it easy. Lawn mowing was done, housework completed, laundry on the line, and gardening put up. A typical Sunday in those days pre-God were reveled in snoozing in, football games on the TV, and plenty of Scrabble and Gin Rummy. But of utmost importance… plenty of home baked bread. Not just any bread - I am talking freshly kneaded, rolled bread complete with a mother's loving elbow grease. The buttery fragrant bread that makes your mouth water so much that you have to swallow the built-up saliva before you can even take a bite. The kind of still hot bread that wafts steam as it cools and is too hot to touch, but we did anyways. Oh those days were cherished.

Save for sounding like a grandma – which in many families (including my own) my age probably already claims me, I long for those days. It seems like there was more time. It seems like the days were longer. A day could last "forever." A night an "eternity." Maybe I am missing a time saving trick. Maybe I should start baking bread. Maybe if I start baking bread, my life will not become more chaotic. Maybe if I start baking bread, my life will slow down and my children will not grow old as fast. Then maybe, just maybe, we'll enjoy the Good Old Days today.