Sundays Passed
Yesterday, I tried—in vain—to recreate a Sunday from childhood passed. I woke up in time to choose a proper outfit for the Episcopals and drink my cup of coffee (2% milk, sugar) and listen to the Top 40 Radio Countdown. Ryan Seacrest has replaced Casey Cassum. No surprise. I already knew such. But, somehow, I resent the change on this particular Sunday morning.
“I refuse to arrive after the first hymn, young lady, let’s go!” Mamma should have said, urging me to put down the mascara wand and totter out the door in my kitten heels. But, she’s not there so I leave late and blister my feet as I run past W. 3rd Street, through the arch of Washington Square and onto Lower 5th.
The service: lovely choral pieces, the priest admits he’s gay, heads shake in disapproval, smiles tweak the lips of the younger set, I’m asked to tithe (“10% of what income?” I wonder). Ninety minutes later I’m back outside in the city air. I decide that the coffee hour in the Parish Hall would just be too much. Back home, that’s where I would gossip with friends, whisper in my sister’s ear about someone’s tacky outfit, ask Mamma to take us to an expensive restaurant instead of back to Granddaddy’s house for the usual repast of oxtail soup and collard greens.
I take myself out to Sunday lunch on Clinton Street. The line wraps around the little bakery/cafe so I’m forced to stand outside and look at the couples and the strollers and the men that parade their Maltipoos around on pink leashes. I pull out Carole Radzwill’s memoir, “What Remains” and lose myself in her story of cancer, frustration, love and loss.
When I’m finally ushered inside (“Table for ONE,” the waitress says, as if I’m a waste of space) and the plate of roast pork arrives, I don’t care anymore. Nothing has been recreated. Sunday memories are sullied. I learn the lesson of never going back. I wish that I had never complained all those years. I wish that I had left the house on time. I wish that I had enjoyed my collard greens and asked for more. Please.
October 31st, 2005 at 11:48 am
Oh my god, we really are neighbors. That must have been you that I saw run past me through the arch on Sunday morning! :O
Just kidding about Sunday.
October 31st, 2005 at 1:51 pm
So the priest admits he’s gay.. and a few ppl raise their eyebrows and that’s it? Wow.. maybe we are moving forward as humans..
I probably needed church the next day but since I don’t go anymore, guess you’ll have to pray for me.
Cute post!
October 31st, 2005 at 2:47 pm
aw, make new sundays. get criossants and eat coffee on your balcony with Chef when he comes over. I’d offer my man but I don’t think he’d fit into the garden….
October 31st, 2005 at 3:22 pm
Sounds like my old Sundays as well. Although, I’ll take the new ones any day. Nursing a hangover from a very late Saturday night with Chicken Wings and a bar that has at least 4 NFL games on. Long live my new religion: Football & Chicken.
October 31st, 2005 at 5:24 pm
beyootiful.
October 31st, 2005 at 6:46 pm
You’ll have to go back south for a visit to do any recreating of those Sundays long past, won’t you?
October 31st, 2005 at 10:35 pm
Belle,
I found your blog thru Lorie’s. I have so enjoyed the beautiful writing. You make me see/hear/feel/smell every part of your life in New York.
I’m new to blogging. Your writing inspires me.
Thanks,
Beth
November 1st, 2005 at 5:54 am
No you can’t recreate it. The smells are different.
November 1st, 2005 at 10:37 am
I wish I hadn’t complained either. Nostalgia does amazing things to ones memories. I’m sure it wasn’t as perfect as I remember, but Sundays back home with my family were special as well.
Poignant as usual. Thank you Belle.
November 1st, 2005 at 10:57 am
Passed or Past?
November 1st, 2005 at 3:43 pm
Aww…I miss my old Sundays too…but watching Leroy Jenkins on BET does have its own lil’ charm…
November 1st, 2005 at 4:07 pm
How I miss Casey’s voice on my radio on Sunday mornings, with his shout outs and special dedications. Thanks for the memory of my own.
November 1st, 2005 at 5:16 pm
Belle- I completely understand! My Sundays are now spent walking and playing with my dog- I do miss my own Episcopal church.
Take care.
November 1st, 2005 at 5:20 pm
its the village, all the priest are gay. Next time you are in the neighborhood, wave. Or, at least stop by to get a coffee and croissant at le pain quotidien.
November 2nd, 2005 at 6:48 am
Things when they were good should be savoured…for you cannot come back and live it again
We have our memories though and sometimes they are even colored by our experiences and current emotions. Lessons learned 
November 2nd, 2005 at 10:25 am
If you ever find yourself wanting s Sunday brunch partner to reminisce and fritter away the autumn afternoon, feel free to give me a ring.
November 5th, 2005 at 9:32 pm
This is quite witty and creative. In all honesty, it was quite a joy to read.
November 16th, 2005 at 2:14 pm
Why do you go to church?
April 6th, 2006 at 11:39 am
recreating the past is elusive. But it’s always fun to try.