A Sunday Morning

This morning I sit in the spot my father occupied most evenings during the summer as I grew up.

In his webbed chair that glided back and forth, he’d sit with his cup of tea after dinner and watch the neighborhood go by. We might sit near by on the metal couch glider reading a book.

Was he surveying what needed to be done around the yard? Mowing the lawn was the main focus as there were no shrubs and the trees and bushes were growing “naturally”. He was not a man who enjoyed taking care of yard work and we three girls did our share of mowing the lawn (we enjoyed the exercise!). Or was he just enjoying the view, our company, and counting his blessings?

I know he would have sat here on a Sunday morning like I am as there would be a flurry of preparation for 9:15 mass. But after Sunday midday dinner, he’d be here listening to his radio with a ballgame on or country music, watching the neighborhood go by.