When I was growing up my father took over when ever we cooked (on the grill) outside. I was his helper. Mother always did the salad and the baked potatoes and any other side dishes. Daddy was in charge of the meat. Granted, he was very good at it. He never prepared a bad meal. However, after many years as his assistant I was never given the roll to do it solo.

I was surprised to discover this attitude was shared by my first husband. He too was raised to believe that only men cooked... on the grill. I too assisted him with this endeavor but still wished just once I could do it on my own.

I had remarried after my first husband past. My second husband too wanted to be the grill master. All of this seemed to be something that I should accept. Then we started preparing for a big cook out. It was not big in size but in importance. My husband was a psychologist by trade but had finally completed and graduated from the seminary. That meant he could now establish his little country church. It was to be his first sermon given to three other clergymen in town. The sermon was to be followed by a "cook out". Plans were made, the menu set, and the date set several months ahead in anticipation of his graduation.

My husband was a 6'4", 250 pound man with a soft voice that would melt butter. He was a very gentle and compassionate person. It stands to reason his first sermon would be about these very things and expressing them in our daily lives. Things were moving along fantastic. Then Ray fell getting down from the podium and sprained his ankle to the point he could not walk without help. This also meant I would have to do the "cook out" solo.

I had everything prepared and set to take it all out to the grill. Boom, Boom, thunder sounded so loud it shook the windows. It started pouring rain. Boom, Boom, more rain. I think the pictures below will tell you exactly what I did.

It was a wonderful meal even if I do say so myself.

The lesson I learned that day is not let a little rain keep me from full filling a dream.  That song, 'Don't rain on my parade', is a good one to carry with us on our journey.  Retirement, some say, can rain on your parade.  But, it does not have to.  Grab an umbrella and keep cooking.  Remember it not how many times you fall down but how many times you get back up.

Tags: Memories Life