Kathryn Nicolai

He couldn't win me over in a month of Sundays.

Or at the table for some holiday dinner.

She'd lean toward me and say, Pass me that dish of Grandma's potatoes.

I haven't had them in a month of Sundays.

I thought of her whenever I heard it, and sometimes said it as a way to invoke her, to bring her confidence and joie de vivre into what I was doing or talking about.

For a while, like with many idioms I heard as a child, I didn't completely or correctly grasp its meaning.

I tended to take those turns of phrase literally.

So when someone talked about beating about the bush, I worried about the bush.

When I heard in an old black-and-white cops-and-robbers movie that somebody had better start talking turkey, I was excited for the upcoming turkey cameo.

and wondered if the ones I'd seen from the car window on a long drive through the country spoke human as well.

So likewise, I thought at some point in time I'd flip the page on the calendar and come across the Sunday month, a whole month of Sundays.

I'd even asked about it.

When was it happening?

My mom had smiled and explained that it was just a saying, a way to say a very long time.

A month of Sundays meant enough weeks for 30 or even 31 Sundays to pass.

I think I'd nodded.

and gone away still pretty confused and a bit disappointed.

Confused that anyone would pick that way to say a long time.

And disappointed that there wasn't waiting for me a whole month when every day would be a Sunday.

As a grown-up, I can't say that I've ever been able to clear a whole month to spend each day doing as I pleased.