I have a love-hate relationship with Sundays. When my dad was alive, we had the best Sundays; even close to perfect as it could possibly be. The weather then wasn't shitty hot and you woke up with that sense of comfort knowing that the entire day had already been planned for you. The trips, the meals- the food especially! From breakfast to dinner, it was sorted. Poor Nana Iday would be making breakfast and at the same time, prepping for lunch and dinner. 

Who would have thought though that perfection is such an unnatural state? That it takes effort, skill and a largeness of character to pursue and create it? When he passed away, Sundays as we knew it changed irrevocably. It took years before we could re-claim it and shape it in a way that made us happy.

It's no longer those Sundays in our memory, but we take comfort in the fact that unknowingly, dad had given us the power to create our own- for ourselves and for the ones we love.