The sun is shining through the plants on the deck this morning with an ethereal magnificence beyond words. It reminds me of the beauty that we so often overlook in our hurried and harassed need to get everything done in this life.

My grandma taught me to sit in the sun and to observe. Watch the weather, the birds, the sun, the trees. She sat there as a quiet observer, noting the clouds, the breeze, the coolest places to sit in the yard. And I observed, taking note. I remember every molecule of existence at my grandmas. The touch and feel of fabric, or the smell of dusty fabric, or the smell of the back porch, basement or garage. It was eastern Oregon so it was easy to smell the dust in everything, and now I hold that smell dear in my heart. I remember the coolness under the locust trees, the slight breeze that you could catch there and the hard metal lawn chairs that we would sit in till our butts were numb. And yet my grandma never complained. Or watching the trains rumble by endlessly, never thinking a thing about it because that was just the way it was. The trains were not ill thought of either, just part of the landscape and thereby accepted, observed and somehow silently saluted and appreciated.

We also sat on the porch at night when the mosquitoes threatened to pack us off in the evening. We would tip back in chairs with our feet on the window sill and watch the bits of town life going by. There was always a cricket to be had out in the locust out front and he could always be counted on to sing you just short of insanity. I guess my grandma’s porch is responsible for my love of dark green porch paint too. I learned to love it because it represented something that coated a part of my life that was very dear to me. The things we remember and love, dark green porch paint, dusty and much loved with Virginia creeper growing along the outside of the porch screen.

I guess that when I appreciate the sun, I remember who taught me to love it so much, my grandma.

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