Let Sunday Go

Well, it's 11:19 on a Sunday night, and about 45 minutes ago, I sent an e-mail to Mama telling her that I was going to bed. Such is the self-deception of the night before Monday (though wouldn't it be wonderful if I could somehow hear her voice echoing down the basement stairs, saying, "Sweetie! Time to turn the light off!"). Sunday is almost always the night on which I stay up the latest. I'm waiting for the weekly harvest of family letters, which is a high point in my week and definitely worth waiting up for. So far, Mama, Benjamin, and Rachel have submitted their offerings, along with Dave's parents, as they so faithfully do every week. Daddy's will be coming along soon enough, I'm sure. Rosalynde wrote last week, and she's much more considerate than I am about the degree to which she'll make her siblings and parents read minute accounts of everything that happened in her kids' lives, so I don't expect to hear from her this week. If I'm lucky, Abraham will send a brief epistle which will capture the matter-of-factness, modesty, and goodness of this brother of mine (though he, too, sent a letter just three weeks ago, and he averages once a semester these days). Gabrielle updated her blog last week, and probably will this week, so she's not necessarily tied to the Sunday night filing deadline. I get my Christian-fix from Facebook and on the phone (time for another conversation, Christian!), though I'm not above placing a little guilt trip in his path to get an honest-to-goodness letter every now and then. Christine will often write for her and Brigham, so maybe something from her will appear in my inbox, and send me back to my perennial schemings about how to fit in a trip to Utah over the summer. And, of course, we'll hear from Eva tomorrow, on her P-day in Russia. So within 24 hours, I will again feel connected to this family of origin of mine, and I'll have some wind beneath my wings for the week to come. I'll resolve to work a little harder, like Mama and Daddy and Benjamin. I'll resolve to have more intelligent conversations, like Rachel. I'll resolve to take pictures and post them to my blog, so Gabrielle can see how desperately I need her to take pictures of my family again, since I'm bungling the job famously. (Boston! Less than a month! Pictures of me and Joshey!) And then I'll take a deep breath, and I'll plunge into the week. I think that I let Sundays go with the same reluctance that I leave my parents and my siblings at the end of every family reunion. I know I'll see you again. I know life wouldn't work if it were a non-stop family reunion (or a non-stop Sabbath). But still.

It's 11:41 now. Time to let Sunday go. It will come again next week.