Yesterday I bought freshly-picked strawberries at the Farmer's Market in Boston's City Hall Plaza.
Because my husband put himself through college by working summers on Johnson's Berry Farm, his parents' pick-your-own strawberry farm in Maryland, and being quite certain that his back-breaking manual labor helped make him the man he is, I have a special fondness for strawberries.
I expected the strawberries to be especially sweet, but they weren't. According to my farmer-turned-scientist husband, “lots of rain, little sunshine (remember the magic of photosynthesis), very little sugar”.
We need rain. I won't dispute that. But there can be too much rain. Hence expressions such as, “rain, rain go away” and “don't rain on my parade”.
Likewise, my children need me to instruct, correct, to discipline which at times requires that I “rain on their parade”. But they also, and especially, need to bask in my approval, just because they are them.
This is also true with our selves. In the midst of striving to be better and do better, and the post-mortem-ing we inevitably do after a major task, sometimes we just need to appreciate who we are. To radiate warmth and kindness and sunshine.
And then, like magic, the sweetness will come.