Yesterday, Dad and I were sitting on the couch watching the sun come in through the western window, and the little dust flecks in the sunbeam. For some reason we both like to sit and watch the sunlight in the evening. Then he said something about “a million bright ambassadors” (it’s more like a billion, in my opinion)… And the boys showed up. We took turns walking through the sunbeam of dust, and just when we settled down again, Lily appeared. After a pause she started chomping the air. Trying to eat dad’s bright ambassadors, along with anything else that moves… Goofy dog.
But now I know where I get my quoting thing. I just realized how Dad does it all the time, only he quotes Pink Floyd instead of Lewis Carroll. We are so alike. That’s why I love him even though he annoys me sometimes, because I can totally see how I have a lot of his personality traits. I even have his ears (left human, right elven). And may I say that though I’m a teenager and supposed to be thoroughly embarassed of/angry at him all the time, I’m actually not. Don’t get me wrong, we have our days, but generally I just like talking to him, listening to his stories and riding in the car. I like when it’s just the two of us and we can blast the music all the way to the library, with the windows rolled down. Dad always says that full volume is the only proper way to listen to good music. I happen to agree. Mom doesn’t. So it’s like our special thing. And whenever I think of camp I invariably think of certain music, a certain way of the sun hitting the hills and the road, the taste of Deerfield General Store vanilla ice cream.
As you may surmise, I am pining away for camping with Dad. He’s off at some camp with Dodge this weeked, and before that he was gone with Poncho. When will it be my turn?
In the meantime, I’m just sitting here on the couch– as I write this, actually– watching a million bright ambassadors come streaming in on sunlight wings.