35 years ago this week my (our) Dad left the planet. But I cannot, ever, cut open a grapefruit without thinking of him. This man who grew up with cooks and chauffeurs, would prepare 4 grapefruits halves for our 4 breakfasts (with the mandatory eggs, toast, juice and milk), at 6 in the morning. Most days. Where did that come from? I choose love.
So when I take my grapefruit knife (of course) in hand, I think about those early mornings - when I didn't think at all - about how each section would pop into the spoon so easily. It took time, it took effort. He didn't have to do it, but he did.
I don't remember my Dad ever saying to me that the little things matter. He just did them, over and over again. There's the lesson.
So here's to you, Dad. You'd love this view and I love you.