Memoirs from the Frontline: Sundays.

Yamhill, OR: I have observed that most school children, and those who have regular jobs, don’t like Sundays. For some reason, Sundays, especially in the afternoon look cloudier, a bit colder and damper than usual. One’s body feels heavier, more inclined to be on the couch and perhaps watch a TV program that wouldn’t seem interesting on any other day. It is perhaps the mourning of the cessation of the joy and possibilities of the weekend and the inevitability of the ever nearing Monday morning which project onto Sunday its gloomy feel. Not for me. Driving our 1984 box truck up the hill in Newberg coming back from Farmer’s market, I feel like a sailor coming back home from a long sea voya

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