"Sunday Morning Coming Down".....what does that mean anyway?  I am a child of the sixties, I should know this.  I was born in the 50's, grew up in the 60's, came of age in the 70's, and screwed up in the 80's. My two children were born in the 90's; that was my real coming of age.  That's when you really grow up, when you become someone's mother.  

I graduated from high school in 1976; that was a big deal back then, the Bicentiennial Year.... the "Spirit of '76".... television was one 'Bicentiennial Minute' after another... they all started with:  "One hundred years ago today...."  I was seventeen.

Ten years later, I got married, it was 1986.  I was 27 years old.  That is not young, I was not stupid, I SHOULD have known better.

I have learned a lot since then; I have learned that the only person that I can change is me.  I have learned that people lie, and that they lie about sex and money more than anything else.  I have learned that you can live with someone for 14 years and not really know them, no matter how much you love them and no matter how much you care.

I have learned that being a parent is the "hardest best job in the whole world."

I have learned that on a cold, winter, Sunday morning, when your mind is full, writing down your thoughts in an online blog is a catharsis, it is a prayer, it is a lifeline...

it is Sunday morning coming down.

Amen.

1-11-09

So, since it is 2009, and the computer puts information at my finger tips, I 'googled' the song and this is what I learned:

Kris Kristofferson wrote "Sunday Morning Coming Down" while living in a run-down tenement in Nashville when he was working as a janitor for Columbia Records. He was told if he was caught pitching songs to any artists he would be fired. He delivered this song personally to Johnny Cash after landing his National Guard helicopter in Cash's front yard. This song was #1 on the Country charts for 2 weeks in September 1970.

“Sunday Morning Coming Down”

Well I woke up Sunday morning,
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes,
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
An' I shaved my face and combed my hair,
An' stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

I'd smoked my brain the night before,
On cigarettes and songs I'd been pickin'.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid,
Cussin' at a can that he was kicking.
Then I crossed the empty street,
'n caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken.
And it took me back to somethin',
That I'd lost somehow, somewhere along the way.

On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cos there's something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothin' short of dyin',
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin' city sidewalks:
Sunday mornin' comin' down.

In the park I saw a daddy,
With a laughin' little girl who he was swingin'.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school,
And listened to the song they were singin'.
Then I headed back for home,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin'.
And it echoed through the canyons,
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.

On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cos there's something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothin' short of dyin',
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin' city sidewalks:
Sunday mornin' comin' down.