I think all of us can agree that every day is Father’s Day. So I’m ready to play it down when it rolls around each year.

Nevertheless, the family marked it beautifully earlier this month. Before it got too hot we went for a walk down Bull creek. You’re thinking – hmm – a walk? But they all hate going on walks with me. I use the word hate because “intensely dislike” doesn’t cut it here. Thus I was suitable impressed. Ouiser swam in every deep cool spot she could find in the creek. The kids clambered up a boulder. We stopped to admire the last of the black eyed susans and bee balms, going to seed after a prolific spring. Then we stopped at Juiceland on the way back home before everyone got absorbed back in our own living. The small things that make a day in our lives. And the small beautiful joys. I am not unaware of the sheer dumb luck that got me here to this point in space and time. And of the fragility of it.