Kathryn Nicolai

So I flipped through the cards in the tin till I found a passed-down recipe written in faded pencil.

Of course, it had come from that dear aunt.

The day was young, and I'd be finishing it with a generous wedge of cake and a maid bed with the corner turned down.

Something I'd hear her say as she gossiped with her sisters while they sprawled across the sofa at my grandparents' house.

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 the 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 I'd flip the page on the calendar and come across the Sunday month.

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.