Mr. J and I celebrated our third wedding anniversary with dinner at the lodge where we spent our honeymoon. Before dinner we sat next to the window and had a very pretty view of a small grassy area, a sun-dial, and misty mountain-tops. Dinner was steak, prime rib, mashed potatoes, and vegetables; I had Chardonnay, because I fancy myself a snooty wine drinker, and we shared an espresso chocolate souffle dish for dessert.
While we were eating and chatting, I noticed a family playing catch on the nice grass. A dad and two small boys were tossing a baseball among the three of them, while Mom chased after a small girl who seemed to delight in running between the boys. I remembered my own childhood, and the infrequent visits with my dad and the games we played. Dad wanted a boy, so I grew up doing things boys did; one of which was playing catch, only we did it with a football.
I enjoyed watching that family; they looked like they were having a lot of fun throwing a little ball between themselves. I enjoyed watching it so much that I convinced Mr. J that we would be happier if we had our own baseball to throw around. So today I bought us mitts and baseballs, and tomorrow we'll play catch in the park until we burst with happiness.