Sundays.

When I was a child, Sundays were all hustle-hustle, get to early mass and then drive 23 miles to visit my grandparents all day. Sundays also meant staying dressed up until we were back home in the evenings. If we were very lucky, we got to go to my uncle's farm just outside the town that my grandparents lived in. We got to change out of itchy fancy clothes and play with our cousins. That was special.

These days, Sundays are long lazy breakfasts with the newspapers, eaten and read by the fire in the living room. I have a large overstuffed leather chair and ottoman that is my special place.

Late mornings and afternoons are scatterings of errands, finishing laundry, and a late afternoon manicure. Evenings are quiet time with my husband and sometimes guests for dinner.

What hasn't changed in all these years are Sundays after dinner, with the sense of preparation for the week to come, the ordering of lists and review of the week that's just past.