Look Up

The other night, I stood in my backyard watching a storm roll in. Some might call it a mindfulness moment. I wasn't going anywhere, checking anything off a to-do list, or accomplishing something productive. I was simply standing there, looking around and appreciating the beauty of the weather.

The trees behind my house swayed back and forth in a rhythmic dance, each branch moving as if it had rehearsed the choreography with the wind. The air felt cool against my skin as the first drops of rain began to fall. And there it was—that unmistakable smell of rain arriving before the rain itself, nature's way of sending a save-the-date.

I don't remember much of my childhood, and lately I've been working on recovering some of those memories (good and bad). One of the things I do remember is sitting on the porch with my dad, watching thunderstorms.

It was quiet time. We didn't need to fill the silence with conversation. Every now and then, one of us would say, "Wow," if there was an especially dramatic flash of lightning. Or we'd comment, "That was a big one," after a thunderclap rattled the windows. Mostly, though, we just sat together and watched the weather put on a show.

My cousins and I still laugh about weekends at our campground when we were growing up. If a storm rolled in and the lake was covered in whitecaps, it was almost guaranteed that my dad and grandpa would have us suited up in life jackets and tied to the dock with a 50-foot rope while we played in the waves.

It was the 1970s, and things were different back then.

Although, to be fair, I'm pretty sure lightning struck people at the same rate it does now.

Miraculously, we survived and have lived long enough to laugh about it.

About a month ago, I got to share a weather moment with my middle son. I had just come back from an errand and said, "You need to look at the sky."

We stood outside together for several minutes, staring at the most beautiful pink sunset.

We didn't say much. We just stood there in silence, looking up—just as I used to do with my dad.

There was another time when I woke my kids up at 2 a.m. to watch a meteor shower. They were little, and in hindsight, this may not have qualified as exemplary parenting.

We were at my parents' cottage, and the meteor shower was so spectacular that I ran inside and got them out of bed. Together we lay on the dock, staring up at the sky as streak after streak of light crossed overhead.

To this day, they still talk about it. They describe it as equal parts amazing and mildly traumatizing. They agree it was incredibly cool, and they've also informed me that if they ever have children of their own, they fully intend to do the exact same thing.

As Canadians, we spend a lot of time talking about the weather. Maybe that's because we experience so much of it—from snowstorms and thunderstorms to sunsets that stop you in your tracks and skies that seem too beautiful to be real.

So the next time you notice the weather, take a moment and look up.

You never know what memory you might create.