Greta Visser
On Sunday morning the whole house smelled of coffee and fried eggs. My father read the newspaper, my mother sang while she set the table.
◆ A recognition
They never met.
They shared this.
What do you remember about Sunday morning in your house when you were small?
Pier Jansen
Sunday morning was very quiet. First the birds, then the church bells across the water. Mother made porridge and we sat together at the table.
Two voices. One memory. Recorded 0 days apart.