Scene 1: The lily pond next to our path around the reservoir where dog owners bring their pets to swim. Said dog owners are throwing sticks or balls into the pond and their pooches are tirelessly fetching them.
Peter and I are sitting there admiring the wildflowers (and the dogs). After a while, the last dog owner gets up to leave and called his dog.
“Don’t go”, I call out. “Yours is the last dog for me to watch.”
Without missing a beat, Peter pipes up, “ It’s OK, I’ll go in.” (He may be 84, but he still has the sense of humor of a 12-year old.)
Scene 2: A perfect June morning, sunny and 72 degrees at 7:45 a.m. I am on my way to the dermatologist on my bicycle. No backpack, no purse, just me. There is a cool breeze and almost no traffic. I feel joyful.
(I may be 76, but I still take great pleasure in small things like Peter’s sense of humor, my bike and perfect June days. For all of this, I am grateful.)