We've had no obnoxious "3 H" days yet, which, for those of you not from the area, refers to "Hazy, Hot and Humid", so I can afford to be cheerful about summer still. As is the family tradition, modified due to the internship of Son Number One in Washington, D.C., the clan got up at "zero dark thirty" on the day of the Summer Solstice and went to Nut Island to watch the sun rise.
I love that he laughed. He's 84 now, which makes it no joke, but that is how he feels about life in general, I guess. Recently he spent hours on his hands and knees putting pansies and petunias on the outside of our hedges, where there have been no flowers, no signs of life (except weeds) in twenty years. It looks so nice that now I find myself weeding every time I go by. OK. Not every time, but often. I guess it's a break from his twice daily trips to the nursing home to visit my mother-in-law. She doesn't recognize him most of the time, but he lives for those fleet bursts of clarity when she does. So here's to another season with Papa, who puts me to shame in so many ways. He's at the Y or off on a walk every day, or when the weather gets really bad he's on the rowing machine in his attic. He dotes on his grandchildren and the feeling is beyond mutual. And he loves me, too. How blessed am I? All this and chirping birds, too.