Dad catches me coming into the building at work. He holds up a plastic grocery bag and grins.
"Got a treat for lunch." He's excited as a young boy with a bag full of worms. (It's not worms.)
Later he spreads a newspaper across his desk, hands me a knife and a small jar of mayonnaise (Duke's, of course), two slices of soft bread.
He holds the tomato reverently--a beauty fresh from the garden this morning. Slices it thick, piles it on the bread. Lots of pepper, a little salt. Seeds and pulp drip onto the paper as he hands the first one over to me and makes another for himself.
As we each take a bite, closing our eyes for a moment, it strikes me: This is who he is. This is what he's taught me.
To savor. Enjoy. Take pleasure in the small things. See the beauty in the summer's first tomato sandwich, a bucket of purple blackberries, a hidden trillium, the smooth speckled skin of a trout, a watermelon in the compost pile, a beautifully written sentence, a shared meal.
That a beautiful life is made of small moments of joy...noticed.
