Father’s Day Weekend
Thursday afternoon, I left work early to pull weeds after the rain soaked us earlier in the week. For 3 hours I cathartically pulled weeds. I made little progress on the gigantic berm we have plantings on, but it didn’t matter. Pulling weeds out after a long rain is so rewarding. Leaves, stem, root and all. They release easily from the dark, wet dirt. As I unearthed my flowers shrouded out by the dense covering of thistles, I remembered why weeding is one of the oldest, most effective metaphors around. Be vigilant of the negative things that sprout up easily in our lives. The resiliency of these weeds is tenacious. If you don’t get to the root, you’ll merely be cutting in vain. The weeds effortlessly push out the beautiful things we desire if we are not diligent. Enter mad libs, the metaphor version, here. Weed __________ (negative thing in your life). Flower ____________(positive thing). Root_____________ (origin of negative thing). I pulled my grumpy out to find my joy. Root cause restlessness. And it was smooth sailing from there.
Father’s Day, we did a little fishing.
I helped where I could…
Sort of fun to do the catch and release kind of fishing. No long-term commitments. Just hold on tight to one of God’s slipperiest creations. Mouth open wide for more – more water, more time. Admire him briefly, then slip him quickly back into the water. Turn his hourglass over and give him one more go around. You’re not going to meet your maker tonight little guy.
Jamison continues to amaze and terrify me. His fearlessness is palpable. He throws his head back with reckless abandon on the swing, beaming at the sun and wind meeting his sweet face. He sits in front of me on our 4-wheeler, throws his arms up and open to the sky, like he’s getting ready for the giant drop on an old rickety roller coaster. Only under the severest of peer pressure was I ever the girl who threw my hands up in the air on a roller coaster. White-knuckles all the way to the gate. Followed by getting down on my hands and knees to kiss the black, dirty pavement and thank the Lord it was over. Jamison has the gift of courage. I hope it sticks around. And, I hope he uses it for good, more moral fortitude… less bull riding or jumping out of an airplane.
The boys and I made cookies for our Grandpa Joe & Grandpa Duane for Father’s Day. I texted my mom at 5:00pm on Saturday to find out what dad’s favorite kind of cookies were. She texted me back at 10:00pm, “oatmeal.” We were already well on our way to making brown butter toffee blondies and buttered rum meltaways by then. My mom told me the next day when she asked my dad what his favorite kind of cookie was, he said, “what kinds are there?” I love that. He is more of a 1 scoop of vanilla in a dish, please kind of guy.
When in doubt, adopt Julia Child’s way of thinking. The more butter, the better. So, we picked out 2 kinds of cookies with butter in the name. How could we go wrong with that? J’aime le buerre. Baking, sipping wine and stirring butter into gorgeous, rich brown nutty submission is a lovely way to spend a Saturday night.
The boys each helped roll out the buttered rum dough. It’s always more messy and less efficient to let them help me with certain things in the kitchen, but it is always worth it, I remind myself. Always. Especially when we’re making something for our beloved grandpas.
Cookies #8 and 9 turned out wonderfully. I’m so grateful they were gifts, none of us could stop eating them. And when I baked the buttered rum metlaways, I thought I was going to get a buzz from just standing in the kitchen. My official word on the manner. Yum.
One more big hearty “Happy Father’s Day!” to all the special dads in our lives and yours.
Have a beautiful week everyone!