It was a beautiful day.
Although the wind was windy, the sun was warm, and the sky was blue. In the afternoon, the leaves of the Monterey Oak glowed in the slanting rays of the lowering sun.
An amateur brush such as this can’t hope to render the tree as it stands outside the window. But than it can paint out the street and the garbage cans along the curb. And it can paint a two-fer … um … of sorts.
I am thankful this weekend for the fair and industrious Trudy. And for my mother who travelled great distances to visit. And I am thankful for a son who is … well … somewhere not sure where, but who did visit for a few hours on Thanksgiving Day. (I envy his ability to stay incommunicado for such long periods of time, I really do. … No, what am I saying … I don’t.) And I am thankful for my father far to the north who undoubtedly has the same complaints about his son as I do about mine.
Ok, and so that’s karma. No sooner do I write that whine and the prodigal son calls. “Are you up for a visit?” he asks in a chipper voice. So he’s on the way. And I am so busted, because now it’s only my father who has grounds for whining.