Sabbath Day

When I was a child, Sundays were devoted to mass and football. For years, both were mysterious rituals to me, full of singing and sighing and chanting and cheering. I probably developed an understanding of the church before I grasped the rules of football, but there was a time in my life when I was an enthusiastic devotee of both.

That time is not this, and I have written here before about how much I enjoy taking advantage of the off times created by other people in this congested area and their Sunday traditions. Runing errands in the morning or at game time is a snap around here. Church is another post altogether.

The last 3 Sundays, though? Our houseguest has tuned in to her beloved hometown team, and I confess I have been drawn back into the fold. Just today I spent my afternoon in the rocking chair eating cheese and crackers, chips and dip, and rooting for one team to fail so that another might have an advantage, never mind their hateful name.

Could mass be far behind?