Essay On My Favorite Place.The cat stretched a lazy smile baring his feline fangs and extending his needle-point claws. And oh what a lazy afternoon it had been. Though the heat of the day still lingered the sun sought distant horizons on which to cast itself upon another day. The fragrance of freshly cut grass lingered on the warm evening breeze
while dragonflies, as if controlled by a child’s hand held remote, snared the victims’ of their early evening meal. I had taken my cue from the cat, Streak, who seemed to be able to nap forever. I, on the other hand, was forever trying to nap, but managed on occasion to inspire a siesta.
Originally an orphan, Streak had been abandoned in the remote corner of a convenience store parking lot. Fate intervened; Streak was recued, and is now a permanent member of our endearing family. I stretched and yawned, orienting myself as my attention was drawn to the ping of glassware echoing from the kitchen. Earlier my wife, and our daughter of four, had treated me to tasty morsels of fruit and cheese: a perfect Saturday noontime meal. I would have been satisfied with stacks of sugar and piles of preservatives, said to be two of America’s favorite food groups, but alas, I am too well taken care of. Soon I would have to get busy, for dinnertime was rapidly approaching and I had officially been elected “master of the grill”.
I looked forward to searing steaks over an open flame though it’s not quite the same as the thrill-of-the-kill, that primal instinct to fend for one’s meal. Fending for the almighty dollar and paying tribute to the local neighborhood meat market is about as close to the ancestral slaying as I care to get. If I’m going to have to do any cutting let it be the cellophane wrapper of a pre-packaged New York strip, baked potato optional. With the steaks on a plate I stood before the grill’s smoky flame and was struck with an epiphany of almost surreal understanding.
There I was, at that exact moment, doing something I truly enjoyed for those who I cared for most: that my idea of goodness, greatness, or best was ultimately no more than a product of my own interpretation, my own private concept.I remember a time when things could get no better than a warm sunny day or a blue sky afternoon. That changed when I discovered girls. Then came cars – cars and girls. Could it get any better than that? We grow. We develop. Our priorities change with time. Things of importance eventually become the relics of our own passed memories, laid by the wayside of our ever changing lives. Eventually, though, we arrive at a point where all of ourdreams, desires, and ambitions come together.
Sometimes this happens slowly. Other times it’s as if the proverbial light bulb has been lit over our head. Since the beginning of creation we have been on a path which inevitably arrives at that moment in time when we say to ourselves: “Here I am”. For me, surrounded by life, laughter, and the people I love most: who in return love me too: I can honestly say I have arrived – at my favorite place.
while dragonflies, as if controlled by a child’s hand held remote, snared the victims’ of their early evening meal. I had taken my cue from the cat, Streak, who seemed to be able to nap forever. I, on the other hand, was forever trying to nap, but managed on occasion to inspire a siesta.
Originally an orphan, Streak had been abandoned in the remote corner of a convenience store parking lot. Fate intervened; Streak was recued, and is now a permanent member of our endearing family. I stretched and yawned, orienting myself as my attention was drawn to the ping of glassware echoing from the kitchen. Earlier my wife, and our daughter of four, had treated me to tasty morsels of fruit and cheese: a perfect Saturday noontime meal. I would have been satisfied with stacks of sugar and piles of preservatives, said to be two of America’s favorite food groups, but alas, I am too well taken care of. Soon I would have to get busy, for dinnertime was rapidly approaching and I had officially been elected “master of the grill”.
I looked forward to searing steaks over an open flame though it’s not quite the same as the thrill-of-the-kill, that primal instinct to fend for one’s meal. Fending for the almighty dollar and paying tribute to the local neighborhood meat market is about as close to the ancestral slaying as I care to get. If I’m going to have to do any cutting let it be the cellophane wrapper of a pre-packaged New York strip, baked potato optional. With the steaks on a plate I stood before the grill’s smoky flame and was struck with an epiphany of almost surreal understanding.
There I was, at that exact moment, doing something I truly enjoyed for those who I cared for most: that my idea of goodness, greatness, or best was ultimately no more than a product of my own interpretation, my own private concept.I remember a time when things could get no better than a warm sunny day or a blue sky afternoon. That changed when I discovered girls. Then came cars – cars and girls. Could it get any better than that? We grow. We develop. Our priorities change with time. Things of importance eventually become the relics of our own passed memories, laid by the wayside of our ever changing lives. Eventually, though, we arrive at a point where all of ourdreams, desires, and ambitions come together.
Sometimes this happens slowly. Other times it’s as if the proverbial light bulb has been lit over our head. Since the beginning of creation we have been on a path which inevitably arrives at that moment in time when we say to ourselves: “Here I am”. For me, surrounded by life, laughter, and the people I love most: who in return love me too: I can honestly say I have arrived – at my favorite place.
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