My Most Homesick Day of the Week

... is Sunday.

I wake up most Sundays missing home. I yearn for the foods, sounds, smells and sights. Instead of telling you what's new (because nothing really is, besides the fact that we got a toilet!) I am going to write a lengthy post describing Sundays of my past. It's important to point out that this isn't to say I am very homesick right now. Actually, that was about three weeks ago. Yet today, as I felt that strong pull to be home, I decided to share this with you - my beloved followers (and secret stalkers).

Growing up, Sundays were not my favorite day of the week. It meant (without fail) church in the morning and homework in the evening. These two factors blinded me from the awareness of the magic that was happening around me. When it wasn't golf season, my father would sometimes wake up early enough to make his famous French Toast, with extra crispy bacon on the side. Sunday was ALWAYS fresh bagel day. I can close my eyes and smell the sweet inside of a cinnamon raisin bagel. No one, no one I tell you, knows how to do a bagel like New York.

Sunday afternoons were spent out in the backyard on the trampoline, swing set or hammock in the warm months. My whole life (when living with my parents) Sunday night is our sit down family dinner. My father will cook nice steaks on the grill with a side of potatoes and asparagus. When we were kids, the vegetable side was broccoli - so some things have changed. On Sundays, there was also a good chance there would be dessert after dinner. And as you may imagine, I shamelessly love my desserts. Ugh. Brownies and a cup of cold skim milk was like heaven on earth back in those days. This is still true, but I have switched to almond milk. (Which I daydream about drinking on a regular basis).

In grade school, many of my CYO basketball games were on Sunday afternoons. Before I started playing, my Dad coached my brother Andrew's team. I fancied myself their manager - going to practices and holding the clipboard, fetching my crush his gatorade. Later, it meant seeing my friends and having fun. The girls I played CYO with are still some of my closest friends. I distinctly remember the first day Jessica Sgueglia asked me to come over after practice. I thought she was so cool!

Once I was older, and no longer forced to go to church, Sundays became my absolute favorite day of the week. In the summer, I would wake up around 10 a.m. , put my bathing suit on and either jump in my or my friends' car then head for the beach. In the evening, my girlfriends would come over and watch HBO or Intervention together. In the fall and winter, it meant waking up whenever I felt like it and laying in bed reading for hours. Finally getting up, only to put a pot of coffee on and continue reading a book or journalling. Eventually, making brunch or going to it with friends. In High School, during football season it meant watching JETS games with my Dad or friend Caitlin Munson while eating Tostitos.

More recently, while I was living at home in Babylon before leaving for Armenia, Sundays took on a whole new meaning. It meant waking up with my niece and father, him cooking breakfast for both his baby girls. Later that evening, a shared bottle of wine and The Walking Dead.

What can I say, Sunday just means home. That home that exists mostly in our hearts and doesn't have to do with one place, person or time. It's that sense of belonging, the routine, knowing my place and what to expect, whether it be a bomb-ass steak dinner or an hour long cry fest with your girlfriends.

Oh, I have almost forgotten the most glorious component of Sunday: Bath time.

Oh, my bathtub!! My sweet, my love, our separation has affectedly me deeply. I long for your warm embrace, my solitude and serenity! But as you may have heard, I return to you soon. We shall be reunited again. Kisses and such - Carolyn.


Quote Of The Week: "Look at her tryna dance all cool and shit, like she didn't just fart."
Song of the Week: Asaf Avidan - One Day / Reckoning (Wankelmut Remix)