So when my husband (call him A) and I started dating, he used to send me sweet little text messages on Sunday morning.
They would read:
That was it. I thought it strange at first. People say Happy Birthday and Happy New Years and Happy Holidays, but not Happy Sunday. I laughed and made fun of him to his face, in that flirty trying to be cute but really aiming for sexy sort of way that young girls in love like to play at.
However, I got to thinking about it. And really, even though we think that only holidays should be called “happy,” there is a lot of beauty and life and discovery and creativity on any given ordinary weekend day.
Be happy for life! For time to rest and be with family, to go to church and mass and to have parties and have dinners and brunches and attend games and plays and throw frisbees and bike and travel and all those things we associate with Sunday, or whatever day it is that you have “off,” because I know as a healthcare worker that weekend days are arbitrary designations of two consecutive 24 hour blocks in a seven day period, and I am entitled to neither of those two, specifically.
Well, If you do have some spare time, I suggest you go sand and refinish an old Dutch table, because that’s what we did today. The legs were a dark, dark mahogany and the top was crudely painted in blue before we took off the paint to show case the beautiful wood grain, and toned down the fussy legs with clean and simple white paint. I feel like we have a brand new table. Oh, did I mention that we removed two large semicircular wings hanging on either side? We did, and I think it looks great.