A Good Day To Be Alive

Louise and I will generally make Sunday a nice leisurely day. We sleep in a bit, spend a while waking up and eventually we will go and do some running around. Sometimes to stores, sometimes for coffee, sometimes just to get out and enjoy the day.

I don’t think we are alone in doing this, because Sunday is more or less the one day in the week that the family can spend time together. Not all families, but a goodly portion of us are able to spend that quality time.

 

I’m old enough to remember when all stores were closed on Sunday. I guess some gas stations were open, smoke shops were open and there might be one pharmacy and one grocery store open on a Sunday, but they were usually quite far away. Most people could get to a store and do their shopping during one of the six days that they were open. If God managed to create the world in six days, surely we humans can pick up milk, bread and cereal in the same amount of time. You know, no one ever seemed to have a problem.

When Louise and I hitch hiked out west in the late 70’s, we decided to visit her uncle and aunt that lived in the Southern Saskatchewan of Wood Mountain. We set off early one Wednesday morning and caught a ride in the right direction (south) really quickly. He dropped us off about half way, and then we stood and sat at the side of the road for hours. One of the few cars that we saw that day was a different aunt and uncle of Louise’s, but unfortunately they were headed the wrong way. While the men wandered off into the field to see how the wheat crop was progressing here, the ladies explained to us that Wednesday was a bad day to hitch hike because everything is closed on Wednesday. What?

 

I guess that since the stores and businesses were open on Saturday, they took Sunday off of course and also Wednesday, so that the people working retail could have two days off each week. They told us that no one would be driving anywhere, because there really isn’t anywhere to go to. With that, they gave us a hug, shook our hands, piled into the car and drove off. We watched them driving away from us for five or ten minutes and then just kept staring for another ten minutes or so. We needed something to do. We looked at each other and I’m not sure what Louise felt, but I was sure I would be eaten by coyotes, wolves, jack-o-deer, raped by the guys from the movie “Deliverance” or any number of other horrible things could happen. I didn’t cry until I realized that I was down to five cigarettes and there’s no way they would last all night.

 

I guess Saint Christopher took pity on us and sent salvation in the form of a guy heading to visit his family in Assiniboia. He dropped us off and headed to what would more than likely be a fantastic home cooked meal. Lucky sod! The only thing open on Wednesday in Assiniboia was the bar. It was well stocked with beer, potato chips, cigarettes and an assortment of crazy, drunk, wonderful people who will soon populate one of these blogs.

You know, that is a great memory, and any day that ends in a great memory is a good day to be alive.