“Think what a better world it would be if we all, the whole world, had cookies and milk about three o’clock every afternoon then lay down on our blankets for a nap.” Robert Fulghum.
Sundays were made for naps.
A time to reboot oneself at the start of a new work week.
When I have the pleasure of indulging in one, it serves as a capping off of school work and household tasks and errands that have all been completed (if I’m lucky). An erasing of a filled slate that a week before had been chock full of “stuff” that had to get done.
Sundays is a day for “nap potential”. As a kid I’d wake up and go to mass with the family. Afterward we’d go for breakfast either at my grandmothers or to a restaurant than back home where most of us would find a quiet little spot and snooze like a pride of lions lounging on the Serengeti. Then one would begin to stir, usually my mother, and it would be time for homework and the making of school lunches.
A nap was a bridge between last week and this week.
Now, I admit I feel guilty taking a nap and have convinced myself that it’s only forgivable if accidental,
which happens only when I’m grading papers in a sunbeam.
Needless to say I found my sunbeam today.