Father’s Day was really great for me, despite the fact that both my kids are in Europe and I spent the occasion mostly alone. I got up early at six and was greeted with texts from them both (nine hours ahead mind you). I had my cuppa joe next door and, before the heat turned up, washed my truck. I went to the gym to work out and then treated myself to a day at the pool, enjoying ice tea and hummus delivered by a freshly-scrubbed high school grad. I fell asleep (in the shade, thankfully) and then awoke hungry. My appetite was slayed by a great steak dinner out, washed down with a mug of ice cold Coke. I drifted to slumber in the shadow of Sparta.
My apologies for the insipid blow-by-blow, but I felt compelled to share this. This fairly unremarkable day was distinguished not by its content, but by my contentedness. Sure, my daughter’s in Paris spending Father’s Day with her step-dad and my son/grandson are in Italy, maybe for good. But I am perfectly OK with this reality. What could have once fueled a massive pity-party I now accept with grace. Not sure why, exactly, but clearly the absence of alcohol in my system or anywhere near my consciousness is a factor – both in my attitude and how I receive these facts of life. I am grateful for these and many other things. I guess that is what it all comes down to.