All day we've been waiting for the rain. Watching the clouds across the sky, thinking it will be any minute. My father told me this morning that huge storms have been working their way acrss the country, both blessing and blasting the farmers with an abundance of watering. I love the sweet springtime sun, but feel joy seeing the new green that fills our world thanks to the rain.
My almost seventy five year old father just returned from a long trip west, seeing our spread out family and many friends along the way. He has been gone for a month or more, and just arrived home this morning. I was making coffee at our kitchen stove and looked up to see a smile I've known my whole life coming to the door. It brought me such happiness I almost burst into tears. Seeing my dad was the perfect start to this day, especially after he's been my mind so much lately.
I made a greasey fried breakfast for my dad and our family, scrambled eggs with new spring onions and cheddar cheese, bacon and sprouted grain toast. Remembering back to the days as a kid when my dad would cook up a ton of bacon on weekend mornings for breakfast...I never ate it (childhood rebellious vegetarianism) but the heavy cloying scent of it filled our house, both then and now.
Seeing my father at my door in the barely light of this morning brought me to the realization that I will forever be recalling stories and experiences, both my own and that which I have been told. As I wrote recently to my sister, we were raised with the real understanding to never take a lick of this life for granted. Thank you, Dad, for that.