big smattering of raindrops on the pavement and on my face.


the teeniest baby quailbirds ever waddling after their mother.


i don't even need three things today. just those two are enough.

It's almost August and it occurs to me that with a couple of exceptions I've neglected to have a summer. Again.

Here are the exceptions:

I sat at the top of the green at the Golf Course in Midway and ate breakfast next to a Koi pond while watching ducks splash in the water and breathing in rain scent.

I've indulged in at least a couple of batches of berry good homemade ice cream. OK, so I didn't eat the entire batch, but at least I've made a few to share with family and friends.

I've picked more than a few juicy apricots (it was a good year for apricots) fresh off the tree. Only some of them made them all the way home.


Here's what I've missed.

Not a single BLT made with fresh-off-the vine tomatoes.

No local cherries fresh off the tree.

Not nearly enough (only one) times eating hot buttered and generously salted corn-on-the-cob. (You know, the kind in which the butter drips off your chin.)

Not a single breakfast, lunch or supper from out on my deck.

No South Fork Park.


I've got about three weeks. I'll have to see what I can do about that.

And stay tuned. I think it's time I took up canning again.

I'm running just a bit late, but as I enter the second-floor Wymount apartment I'm struck by how tiny it is. Like a small box, really. I sit on the living room sofa and realize I can see more than half of their home and it's smaller than my bedroom. The truth is there are much closer piano teachers than this first-time instructor. More convenient piano teachers. But I look into her eager eyes, remember keenly what it's like to start out in humble circumstances, and realize that for now I need to drive my kids across town instead of let them walk across the street. I don't resent that; I just know that's what I need to do. And why.

It's 6:45 a.m. and I notice as a van pulls into the driveway at my next door neighbor's house. Is that who I think it is? Yes. You may remember her story. I notice her pained and awkward stride as she walks up to the door. I know without looking that she is carrying a package. A gift bag sith some trinket from the dollar store. Is it my neighbor's birthday, I wonder? Maybe. Maybe not. M~ will drop by her special gifts of love just about any time, in addition to remembering everyone's birthdays. Things are difficult for her right now as she, even in her impaired state, has the almost constant care of her three energetic grandchildren. Her daughter has left yet another troubled relationship and moved back in, but is busy with both school and work. Does she complain? Not so much. "I'm going to turn it over to the Lord," is her constant refrain. God bless the generous, resliient, humble, thoughtful, courageous, enduring M~.

This week I have had a little anxiety as family has started to gather for a family reunion. I don't know why I do this to myself, but I do. I'm anxious because I don't have enough time to be everything for everybody. My house isn't clean. We are a little bit dysfunctional and I never know who's going to go off or be offended over something completely silly. And it was my family's turn to plan the extended family reunion of some 200 people, all with strong personalities as well as strong opinions as to how things should be done.

Yeah, you're right. Reading this I'm starting to understand why there was a little anxiety.

So the immediate family thing went OK. There were a few little digs of the not-so-subtle why aren't you spending more time with me? kind from the very people with whom it is hardest to spend a lot of time. And there were just good laid back moments with the ones who take you as you are and with whom you do the same.

And the extended family thing was OK, too. There were disappointments. The campsite wasn't all it was cracked up to be (no water, no plumbing, and the grass I'm sure everyone assumed when they looked at it last winter would be actual grass, instead of yellow dried up neglected pokey nothingness). And it was hot. And people didn't bring what they said they were going to bring so cooking dinner for 150 people was a bit of a trick. But no one starved. No one had heatstroke. There were only a few thinly veiled complaints. And we all got along.

Which is saying something.

But here's the cool thing. My immediate family kicked out for much of early Saturday for a family baptism--my youngest son's baptism. We tried to keep it low-key and didn't expect anyone else to show. We were all seated and it had started when my dad's brother and his wife walked in. And I completely lost it. Usually I try to be happy with what's right there in front of me. Grateful for who and what I have. Instead of missing those who've moved on and left us behind. But all of a sudden I was overcome with the realization that my Dad was missing. And that he's always missing from these signficant events. And that I have missed knowing him and watching him know my kids. Teasing them, tickling them, holding them up on his knee. And being really proud of them.

I later told my aunt and uncle both how much it meant to me that they would come. That they are always there for me. My aunt replied, "Well, you are our kids." And I realized that without my knowing it they had taken us into their family and loved us even more deeply than I had understood. Partly because they loved my Dad and staying close to us was a way to not lose him so completely. But mostly because they didn't want us to lose him so completely.

I'm still humbled and touched by their love for us. I want to be like that when I grow up.