Sundays were for church and visiting

Whatever happened to the lazy Sundays of my youth? We went to church every Sunday, without fail. When I was very little, we attended a big, musty, ornate church. I do not remember the denomination but also don’t remember if the main service was in English.
My uncles used to attend various churches, most notably ones where the service was in Polish or German. There may have been Hungarian churches as well. The rule was they had to go to church on Sunday, but it didn’t matter what language was spoken there.
The uncles delighted in going to any place where English wasn’t the primary language. As they had friends of many different ethnicities, this was an easy thing to do.
Once we moved to the farm, our neighbors introduced us to the church in Arcanum, a small town a few minutes away. Eventually, they also provided transportation for my mom and me as everybody else moved away, died or simply quit going.
Now that I’m grown, I don’t go to church. The crowds of people make me uncomfortable. I don’t like to get up in the morning. I prefer to worship my God on my own schedule, in my own way. The tradition of weekly church has evaporated along with my youth.
After church we would come home to a big meal. Often this meant beef and noodles. The beef was home-grown and the noodles were hand-made. The noodles were delightfully gummy and under done squares of dough.
My favorite meal was rabbit prepared by my grandfather. Delicious! No matter what we had, it was most-likely grown in our backyard.
On good Sundays, the uncles, aunts and cousins showed up in the afternoon. Uncle Norman would show off his latest purchase, a horse or dog or whatever. One uncle would take pictures, while the other demonstrated that he was no horseman.
While this was going on, the women would visit. The cousins and I would explore the farm, the fields and on rare occasions we were allowed to explore the dump. That was a real treat and we would drag home various “treasures” we found.
If the uncles and their families didn’t come over, then Grandma’s youngest brother and his family would stop by. I remember them as being loud and full of life. Now, only the twins are left to carry on that family.
Sometimes we would be the ones doing the visiting. We would stop by Charlie’s house where Mom and Grandma, and Grandpa when he was alive, would talk to Charlie’s wife. I would be sent to the shed, where Charlie made ice cream.
Sunday’s were for church and family. Visiting was almost mandatory. Sports were nonexistent. Food was plentiful, if not always completely cooked through.
Not so today. I don’t go to church. I can’t remember the last time anybody came over just to visit or that I visited simply for the sake of visiting. Families are busy and need a reason to do anything except catch up from the previous week and rest up for the upcoming work week.
Maybe I’m an exception. Maybe other families still reserve Sunday for church and visiting. Honestly, if someone did announce that they were stopping by, I would go into a frenzy of panicked cleaning. Since my mom died, I no longer have a reason to pack up the car and drive for an hour or so for a day of simply enjoying the company of family. 
Sometimes I want to revisit the past and wander the fields of my childhood, accompanied by my cousins while leaving the adults to talk. Sometimes, I get nostalgic for things that once were and are no more. Do you?