We Need More Sundays

I’ve had a few people ask me about the name of this blog, Sunday Sometime. How did I come up with it? What does it mean? To me, it’s simple – we need more Sundays.

Sundays used to feel special to me when I was growing up. Even the name “Sunday” conjured up images of warm, sunny days, although most of the time they were anything but, especially in Michigan in the middle of February (or any month from November through April!). Regardless of the weather, it was the one day of the week where everyone was home. We didn’t always do anything special; I just remember Sundays as being rather laid back and low-key.


St. Faustina Church, formerly St. Edmund

One constant on Sundays was church. It didn’t matter what time of year it was, or whether it was 90 degrees in the shade or -15 with the wind chill, Sunday always meant church, and always in your “Sunday best.” I grew up Catholic, and in those days you wouldn’t dream of going to church in anything but your best clothes. My dad, who was a blue collar guy his entire life and never dressed up for work, would wear a suit and tie to church every week. My mom would wear a dress, nylons and heels, and my sister and I would wear dresses with knee socks and our Mary Janes that my dad polished to look new the night before. Our long hair was styled in sausage curls, with yarn ties holding it back. We never would have thought to wear pants, much less jeans. And sneakers? I can’t say for certain, but I don’t think someone wearing sneakers would have been allowed to enter the sanctuary. It was a far cry from the “come as you are” attitude many churches have these days.

After church we’d come home to the beef roast my mom put in the oven before we left for church. You see, Sundays gave her a little break, too – even though the roast seemed like a fancy dinner to my sister and me, it was actually pretty simple for my mom to make. Roasts don’t require a lot of babysitting while they cook, and the side dishes can be put in the roasting pan to cook with the meat. Mom rarely made roast during the week, so it had that Sunday dinner feel to it. After dinner, my sister and I would play games or with our dolls. Sometimes my mom would join in. My dad would mow the lawn, or watch a football or baseball game on TV, and usually fall asleep in his chair. Sometimes we’d visit my Aunt Bertha and my Babu, my grandmother, who lived just a couple of miles from our house. When we’d come home, it was time for the Wonderful World of Disney on TV, then baths and bed, and another busy week of work and school.

The point is, Sunday was always a family day, relaxed and easy with no set agenda. In today’s society, we are always so busy, scheduled to within an inch of our sanity. We need more Sundays in our lives, not necessarily to go to church or have family dinners, if that’s not your thing. But to just slow down, take a breath, relax and enjoy life for a moment before the craziness of the work week begins. To appreciate the special people in our lives. To just be.

We need Sunday, sometime.



Writer’s Block – Kind of? Maybe? I Don’t Know

typewriterEarlier this year, I wrote a post declaring this blog was no longer abandoned, and promising that I would write more frequently. Well, what is it they say about the best-laid plans?

I don’t know what happened. Or rather, I do know, or at least have a good idea.

You see, I have lots of ideas for blog posts, short stories, novellas and even full novels.  They’re all in my brain, banging off each other as they fly around at full velocity at 3 AM. I am sure I’m not alone in having the creative muses visit me at the most inopportune times. But later in the day – like when it’s daylight – I have no such inspiration.  The muses have packed up their sparkly idea dust and taken it home. I can’t think of anything to write and worse yet, sometimes I don’t feel like writing.

I’ve basically been writing my entire life. I remember winning a writing contest in 3rd or 4th grade with a short story I wrote based on a picture of a young boy rescuing a Rumpelstiltskin-type character from a crevasse. The prize was a performance of “Oliver” at the Grand Circus Theatre in Detroit. I also received a certificate that I kept on my bedroom wall for years. I have no idea what happened to it.

Some of the early things I wrote sounded like plots for Lifetime movie scripts. One in particular that I wrote in junior high was about one of my celebrity crushes – in my story he was in a horrific ski accident that left him paralyzed, but in true Lifetime movie fashion, he regains his ability to walk. I also used to draw and sketch, coming up with movie posters that would often coincide with the stories I would write.

Then of course there is my “great novel,” which I have been writing on and off for the better part of the last 30 years. The main characters are four young college age women loosely based on myself and three of my friends. When I started it, the women of course fall in love with four guys who happen to be besties, too, so everyone lives happily ever after while remaining BFFs forever. Totally realistic. Ha. This epic has been rewritten and rewritten several times, and unfortunately, it’s currently missing – the file got lost somewhere in a computer transfer. I also have a dystopian novella I’ve been working on for about five years – its only problem is I don’t know how to end it. I’ve got plenty of blog posts and poems in this crazy brain of mine, too.

So, what’s the problem? Why can’t I finish any of this stuff? Or even start it? I think it’s a form of writer’s block. One theory I have is that in my last job, I had to write so many blog posts every week that I kind of got a little burned out. However, I’ve been away from that job since January. I do have a lot of stuff going on, however, including trying to get my consulting/freelance writing business off the ground, so there’s that (I’m also learning to knit! I want to make crazy socks for myself).

I have one idea that could remedy my current funk. I recently saw an article online that had some good advice – just write away from work every day, regardless of what it is or even if it’s very good. Take five minutes and write whatever comes to mind. This is supposed to help make it a habit. I will try it for a week and see what happens, then report back here.

Maybe I’ll even have a blog post or two for you.

Abandoned Blog No More


After an extended hiatus, I am back. I needed to take a break from a lot of things that were going on in my life at the time, including the illness and eventual death of my father in August 2015 at the age of 89 (just 11 days before his 90th birthday).

I found myself becoming even more introverted than usual, and my work schedule along with newfound responsibilities left me rather exhausted in the evenings, with no desire to do anything. So I watched a lot of TV. I goofed around on my iPad. I learned to knit. I ate carbs. LOTS of carbs. And just kind of existed.

I am feeling ready to come out of that protective carb-induced shell and get moving, literally and figuratively (stay tuned for a separate blog dedicated to the literal “get moving” part of that equation). So I am “reactivating” this blog with a new name and a new purpose.

It’s good to be back.


Photo by surasakiStock

In Memoriam

My wonderful, strong, hard-working, rock-solid father lost his fight with acute myeloid leukemia on August 11.  I wrote a post about it and I keep editing it, but I just can’t hit “publish.” So I will post a poem instead – “Funeral Blues” by W. H. Auden:

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Rest in peace, Daddy.

It’s Been Far, Far, Too Long

Hi everyone!

Just wanted to poke my head in and let you know I’m still here!  Life has been crazy, busy, tragic, happy, joyful and sad, and I haven’t had much time to think much less write.

There have been some major changes in my life; mostly positive but some negative.  I will write about them soon, I promise.  I’ve been feeling the urge to get back to blogging – I really need the creative outlet that blogging affords me, even though most of the time it seems I’m just rambling.

So I will get back to the blog shortly.  For now, I will say “hello” again and hope you, my readers, are still there.

Good Riddance, 2013

Happy New Year!


2013 was not the best year of my life.  Not by a long shot.

It started off with getting laid off on January 2, after nearly five years of employment. It kind of went downhill from there.  About the only things that went right are I finished my master’s degree and I’m still here and relatively healthy.

So much of my life this year has revolved around not having a job.  Every day I looked for jobs, I sent out resumes, I networked, I went to events, I talked to people, all to no avail – the two dozen or so interviews I went on amounted to nothing, including a couple of good ones that I left feeling like I really had the job.  Fortunately, my unemployment compensation kept my head above water, but I still had to cancel a long-anticipated vacation (for which I’d already saved the money) because I could not in good conscience spend money on a five-day trip when I didn’t know what was going to happen, insofar as having a job.  So I stayed home.  All flipping year.  Continue reading

All That You Can’t Leave Behind

My parents did something over Labor Day weekend that they haven’t done in more than 40 years.

They stayed home.

Because they didn’t have anywhere to go.

You see, for just about as long as I can remember, most of our holidays and vacations were spent in Standish, Michigan, at my aunt’s lakefront house, that eventually became my mom and dad’s after my aunt passed away in 1991.  But the care and maintenance – and the expense – became too much for my parents to handle so they put it on the market.  There was little interest until mid-June when the real estate agent called to say she had a buyer.

I stood in my parents’ kitchen, dumbfounded, as they told me the news.  They had tried to sell the place for the better part of the last 10 years – it had been on and off the market all that time and there were never any serious inquiries, aside from the one person who wanted to rent it and not buy.  My folks said no to that deal.  But suddenly there was a buyer – the price was agreed upon and in a few weeks’ time it would no longer be ours.  And a chapter in my life would close.

The house in Standish, which no longer belongs to family.

The house in Standish, which no longer belongs to family.

In the late 1960’s, my aunts Frances, Bertha and Virginia, along with my uncles Steve and Frank – all of my mom’s siblings, with the exception of my Uncle Eddie, who visited several times – bought property on Beachwood Drive on Saginaw Bay.  They built cottages.  They planted gardens.  They bought boats.  I remember the first time my parents took my sister and me there – we stayed in my Aunt Frances’ cottage, which was not finished.  There was only particle board on the floor and it was not yet hooked up for electricity or water.  We sat around in the evening by candlelight.  My parents were worried that us kids would be afraid, but we thought it was cool!  We were a little disappointed when the cottage had electricity the next time we visited. Continue reading