I do love listening to the crunch and crackle of leaves as the girls leap into them and Carl rakes them, and the giggles from all three. My sister and I used to play in leaves at my grandparents' house; our uncle would pile them up by the picnic table and we would leap off it into them, giggling just as madly as my two are. Then we would come inside and Grandma would brush us off and feed us snacks and send us back out to play again.
Having just come back from her memorial service, where sadness mingled with happiness, and memories flowed freely with the food at the luncheon afterward, where we spent time catching up with Dad's cousins and aunts and uncles who haven't seen us in years, where Dad and two of his brothers and one of his sisters gathered back at our house afterward for more food (and coffee) and more stories, both the good ones from when her mind was still hers, and the sad ones from when Alzheimer's started to steal her away ...
I quite enjoy listening to the next generation of small ones laughing and shrieking in the leaves.
And, thinking of Grandma, I really ought to get off my rear end and clean the kitchen, so that I can welcome them back inside with food and smiles.
Because, more than pictures, that's what memories are made of.
Although I freely admit I hope my camera battery will be working the next time these three go out with the rake.
One of last year's leaf extravaganzas. Whee!