Easy Like Sunday Morning

I don't know what it is about Sunday mornings but I love them. Even when I worked at my last job and I had the choice between taking off Saturday or Sunday I always took off Sunday.

I think it has a lot to do with growing up. On Sunday mornings my mom and my stepdad would get up more or less at their usual time. We'd pile into the car and we'd hit yardsales and flea markets, usually in Charlottetown. Then after the fleamarket we'd go to a place called Sam's for breakfast. When we first started going there my aunt worked there. We quickly became regulars and had a regular server. I think her name was Shelly? She was a university student. We always tried to leave her a good tip. I think the Sunday morning Sam's ritual is why I like going out for breakfast. It reminds me of good times. My only issue is that I wasn't crazy about bacon and eggs for breakfast every Sunday morning - possibly because I could have it pretty much every morning when I was home. But Sam's used to make the BEST breakfast hashbrowns. They weren't your typical hashbrowns. They were sort of dry mashed potatoes that has been fried with butter, onions and lots of black pepper. They were sooooooooooo good. We used to get a big plate every weekend. Sometimes I think they were the reason we went there.

We ate at Sam's for years. Then there was a fire and it burned down. They rebuilt and when they reopened they were aiming for a different type of clientele. People with more money, a posher crowd. The food was actually pretty good but they didn't do well and ended up selling the place. It's now a Chinese food restaurant. Oddly after Sam's closed we started to go to a different Chinese restaurant. lol Again, always had the same waitress. Her name was Colleen. She was very nice. I remember my mother telling me that she overheard my mother and stepfather talking about they were going to afford to pay for something for me (I wasn't there at the time, probably a weekend with my Dad). She used to make beautiful beaded jewelry and offered to sell a piece and give them the money. They didn't accept the offer but when's the last time your server offered to do something like that for you?

Sunday mornings were kind of our golden time. Of course they didn't last. My grandfather died. We bought a house. My stepfather's mother died. A lot of things happened at once and things were hard. And my stepfather, a recovering alcoholic who had been on the wagon for more than 10 years, turned back to the bottle. I left home at 14. I came back. And then I left again at 16 shortly followed by my mother. He chose a bottle over his family. He and my mother resolved their differences and were able to retain a friendships of sorts. She cared for him while he was sick and watched as lung cancer slowly killed him a few years ago. It damned near killed her.

We probably couldn't afford to eat out like that every weekend. But we did. It was our little weekly indulgence. I always associate Sunday mornings, and Sundays as a whole really, with small indulgences. I'll bake bread. Or I'll make special tea. Or I'll go out for breakfast. Or cook a big dinner. There's something about Sundays that are still golden for me.