It might be in the movie Down by Law or another movie - can't recall. Whatever the film it has Tom Waits talking to a bunch of teenage boys in a diner. His question to them at one point is growled in his Waits-ese - 'how many summers you got left boys? How many summers?" It landed then and resonates now. Here I am at the tail end of another Sunday. One of 2,008 and hopefully counting. I used the calculator on the computer to figure that out. I think I can cut about 156 of them for the first three years of my life. Things were pretty much happening all of the time in those years and most of it had to do with full, empty, hot, cold, tired, wet, soiled, etc. So lets say the Sunday count started after I'd experienced 156 of them having no idea a Sunday from a Tuesday back then. So Sunday when I was aware, and I'm giving myself a lot of credit to say I had a clue when I was three, was a church day. And that ran until I was 17, when I left home. So that's 884 of the church Sundays. To be honest there were a bunch of them after I turned 16 that weren't spent at the church. I'd sneak into the back of the place, grab a bulletin (that was proof of having been there) then go down to Smith's Farm Dairy and drink milkshakes with Harvey Boyko, another Church truant. The Sunday for a while had a family swim component over at the indoor pool at the YMCA (in the fall winter and spring). There were Sunday suppers with beef and Yorkshire puddings and such pretty much every Sunday of the 884. Summers were unique. The two Sundays during the holidays my old man got from the CN were different. We'd seek out a church but we were usually a long way from home. If we couldn't find one we'd stop by a tree, or one of those miniature highway churches with nobody in them, and give praise.  Jobs put an end to the holidays - Sunday was often a work day or the end of the weekend with Monday looming like a hammer about to come down. School years saw me cramming on Sundays, or on the phone, or playing football, hockey or some sport. After I left home Sundays kinda slipped back to the three year old Sundays. I stopped going to church. I was full, empty, hot, cold, tired, wet, or besotted. I traveled on Sundays. Then in my mid twenties Sundays got all Miles Davis - long walks, love letters, movies at night. Laundry - always laundry. Sunday had developed a feel. It was quieter. It was a day to regroup. Maybe I'd been shown the Sunday way on all those church visits - dunno.  Over the course of one winter in Victoria I'd call Bob of Bob's Buzz for Bottles and he'd bring over what he hadn't consumed with his pals the night before and we'd drink and watch football. Sunday is a culture. It's a thought that can descend anytime in the week. It's developed in me over 2000 times. And now here it is another Sunday in the long line of Sundays. Got up late today. Made coffee, listened to some music, wrote a bit, read the paper. Then I went for a long bike ride out into the country, passed a big flock of sheep and a lot of soil turned over in prep for winter. I did laundry. Made a roast beef supper. Talked to Laur on the phone. Twice. Listened to the Yankees lose to the Tigers. Guess it's pretty much Sunday as usual. I wonder how many Sundays I have left? Hopefully a flock.