Sunday’s best

So it turns out reports of Sunday’s demise were exaggerated. Against all odds, it remains a singular sensation. Can’t you just feel it? For years now, worried social commentators and hand-wringing cultural observers have mourned the erosion of Sunday’s status as the most special day of the week. In making their case, they pointed to stores no longer being closed, church no longer being a part of life for many and work schedules encroaching on the once-sacrosanct weekend. They expressed fears that Sunday was stumbling toward being just another day.

Though the song was actually about a ruptured romance, there were even those who borrowed the title of a baby boomer oldie by Spanky & Our Gang: “Sunday Will Never Be The Same.”

But guess what? Our arm-in-arm march toward a 24/7 social and economic framework did not turn out to be the end of days, so to speak.

In spirit at least, Sunday has retained its unique character.

It’s more subtle now, less officially anointed. And to be sure, this is a subjective matter.

But it could be argued that there’s a Sundayness about the first day of the week that still sets it apart. With apologies to those not in a Monday-Friday 9-to-5 orbit, it seems like there’s an imperative to notice things on Sunday.

Sure, you can study backyard cobwebs glistening in slanting sunlight on a Tuesday or listen to the mantra of an early-morning sprinklers serenade on a Wednesday. Chances are, though, you would fast-forward right on past.

Unlike Saturday, when the weekend looms fat and sloppy with limitless potential and a tendency to take options for granted, Sunday comes with a reminder to savor the time. In the distance, Monday is chugging down the tracks.

Sunday is like a holiday without the rules and stress.

Sure, nostalgia colors this. If Sunday had a distinct flavor when you were a child, that taste never entirely leaves you.

You remember.

Eye-opening breakfast aromas emanating from the kitchen. Company coming over. That telltale “I don’t have my book report done” stomachache triggered by the theme music for “Bonanza” or “The Wonderful World of Color.”

Of course, we don’t all have the same kind of memories. And there are countless opinions about the perfect way to max out the day in 2010.

Stay inside and read or watch movies? Gardening or household projects? Church? Hit the door running and come home with sore feet and a sunburn?

You make the call.

But maybe more than any other day, Sunday holds the promise of an idealized experience. It seems only right and proper that it be a day well-spent.

Perhaps because of its traditional relationship with religious themes, Sunday invites contemplation, intention and self-discovery.

You might ask, “Who am I when I get to choose how to spend my time?”

In our own ways, we answer that every weekend.

Perhaps there has never been a better secular evocation of the almost mythic healing power of the day than a remarkable episode of “The Andy Griffith Show.” Titled “Man in a Hurry,” it first aired in 1963 and has been in reruns ever since.

It is the story of a keyed-up traveling businessman whose expensive car breaks down just outside Mayberry on a Sunday morning. His urgent attempts to get townsfolk to rouse themselves from what he sees as their Sabbath stupor leads to a series of values collisions.

In the end, though, the calming gentleness of the people and the soothing pace of their chicken-dinner lifestyles win him over. He stops fretting, and he is at peace.

Now, despite what your brother-in-law in Seattle says, Spokane isn’t Mayberry.

Most of us don’t lounge on the front porch, strumming and humming dulcet folk songs and debating the merits of walking over to the filling station to grab a bottle of pop.

But we are not without a well-developed leisure ethic.

We are seriously into recharging our batteries here.

And no discussion of the Inland Northwest’s commitment to recreation is complete without an acknowledgement of Sunday’s starring role.

Maybe you’ve heard of Bloomsday. Or Langlauf. Or many, many other local events that either take place or culminate on a Sunday.

Make no mistake. Saturday is swell. Moreover, Saturday night possesses a cultural cachet all its own.

Still, there is only one day that is both the end of the weekend and the start of the new week. We ask much of Sunday because we expect a lot.

Yes, the day has changed. But the thing that made Sunday special wasn’t ever really the fact that you couldn’t buy a bottle of wine or that you saw your neighbors all dressed up for church.

Matters of holiness aside, Sunday was, and is, special because it’s about a kind of freedom.

And naps. Naps are good, too.