holy days – Feminism and Religion

Thanksgiving is a complicated holiday. As a child, it was simple – a happy day of family and feasting. I would awake at dawn to help my mother stuff the turkey that would roast all day in the oven, and while she prepared all the rest of the meal, the younger of my brothers and I would head downtown with my nextdoor neighbor to delight in the Christmas displays in the department store windows. Our home would be filled – my older siblings returned from college and their adult lives, with a roommate, or girlfriend, and in later years, spouses and children. We would stuff ourselves with turkey, stuffing, and cranberry jelly, mashed potatoes and gravy, black cherry Jello, squash with mini marshmallows, and as my mother would always say, “corn for the Indians.” That would be the only mention of Native Americans on this day celebrating what has become a romanticized version of a harvest feast, shared by a few of the Waumpanoag people and the English settlers who owed their survival to their generosity.

This summer I committed an act of radical and deeply liberating change. I started taking Sundays off, a new thing for me. As a writer, I had come to regard Sunday as just another working day, part of the same old workaholic grind.

And by taking Sunday off, I mean that in the most literal sense–I went offline and pulled the plug on my internet for 24 hours. Without the distraction of my smart phone, email, or social media, I suddenly seemed to have so much time and so much peace. It was like being on retreat except I could do it here and now, in my own home. In this hallowed time out of time, I now spend my Sundays meditating, reading real books with paper pages, going on long horse rides or hikes, and enjoying deep communion with family and friends.

Continue reading “Rest as a Radical Act by Mary Sharratt”