I know this will turn out to be just a tad early, but I thought I would be in a hurry to salute Father's Day.
So, allow me to begin with a picture of my father.
As one might surmise, this is a picture of my dad shortly after he was promoted to Battalion Chief. He died about two years after that, I was seventeen at the time. What I remember most vividly is when he would go out as a mutual aid department to the fires in the Santa Monica mountains. He would be gone for a week or more sometimes. (This was before people actually lived in this area.) He was usually gone for a day or so but that was to be expected on shift work. Our house had what we referred to as the "doghouse" which was nothing more than a partitioned section of the garage where our washer and dryer were. At any rate, When he would get back after 10 or more days my mom would insist his clothes be removed in the "doghouse". However, you cannot imagine what a warming smell burnt weeds and grass can create until your dad is gone for days. That is how we knew he was home. And I have always had that memory whenever I smell burnt grass.
We can get a bit scrappy here at times, and realize this means the occasional food fight might transpire. Truly anonymous comments don't allow anyone to keep track of the over-ripened tomatoes in the air, so kindly sign on to Blogger or use a consistant nom de plume in a thread.