Sunday has long been considered a special day, and its significance stems from several aspects of life: spiritual, physical, emotional, and social.

In our family, I don’t think my dad got the memo that this was a day of rest, relaxation, and fun.  You see, he was a salesman and was only home mostly on Sundays.  What this meant to me was one of two things.  First of all, we would usually have relatives over for the day.  This meant a big meal around three p.m.  After the meal, the grown-ups gathered in the living room to supposedly watch TV, but it usually meant they took an afternoon nap.  Then, the most exciting event of the day started.  My younger Sister, Judy, and I would have the privilege of cleaning up this mess.  This took most of the day, as my mom, I swear, used every pot and pan in the cupboard, and, of course, the very best china.  We would have a quiet discussion about who would wash and who would dry.  For some reason, I washed.  I don’t know why, as this entailed scrubbing all the dirty pots and pans, but drying seemed to take forever as that entailed putting everything away, and then there was cleanup.