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Well, here it is, Father's Day-- a celebration invented, no doubt by either some publicity-seeking politician or the owner of a chain of department stores looking to boost sales. It’s always possible, of course, that it had a more touching beginning. But however it began; it does arouse feelings in a great many people...
Walking on Broadway this morning I saw some obvious parties sitting at the outdoor tables of restaurants--clearly there to honor their father. And, in the space of one block, I heard two separate cell-phone conversations--a forty-ish woman and a man in his early twenties, wishing their fathers happy Father's Day...
As with many of these celebration days—again, no matter how mercenary or mundane their origin might have been— (Mother's Day, etc.), its something that has, over the decades, attained the level and status of an important human ritual-- something that taps into the a very deep emotional well...
In this case, either your father is near you and want to let him know he isn't/wasn't taken for granted-- or he's not with you, separated by distance or mortality. You might take the opportunity to get in touch by phone or e-mail; or, if he died, you find yourself remembering him... with whatever personal set of images and feelings arise in your heart and mind.
Sitting inside my apartment with, as usual these days, too much time on my hands; listening to the non-stop rain bouncing off, splashing, clinking on the metal fire-escape outside the window--off the metal windowsills, and down on to the bricks in cement courtyard six floors below...
Seems to me that such a day has far more charm in the country or even in other parts of the city where things are smaller and quieter.
I remember the rain hitting the wood and tar-paper roof of the little house I grew up in out in Queens, and watching the drops hit the leaves of the trees in the backyard.. There are few sounds as peaceful and evocative as raindrops hitting a roof or landing on leaves or splashing in small puddles... I guess, though, that sound and that quiet, philosophical state it induces is really as much a state of mind as a circumstantial event.. Even here in Manhattan, amidst the huge, faceless brick, stone and glass towers, amidst the incessant rushing and noise of traffic and humanity--even here, the raindrops bouncing off metal and cement and the puddles of water outside--give you a sense of nature that is otherwise almost absent from the perception of your five senses... Cozier, such times are, when there are two of you to hear it--but still, there is grace that is conferred even in solitude when the rain falls down all day and you are inside, warm hopefully, even better if
you are doing something productive or creative--or maybe just reading a book you like...
I remember that song by the Lovin Spoonful--was it called "Rain on The Roof"? I think it was... "You and me and rain on the roof.."
A great song, starting off with the sound of rain--
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