jo.

Buzzzzz.

Oh Sunday morning, why must you come so quickly?

A couple of years ago, my parents upgraded to one of those fancy coffee machines that grinds the beans before making a fresh cup. It also has all the attachments to make lattes and cappuccinos. Alas, most of the time it's actually just doing the simple job of making a cup of jo.

At home, if you're the fist one up, you get to turn on the coffee machine. Cue the loud grinding noise throughout the whole house.

Robe on, up the stairs I go to find my father sitting outside on the deck with his fresh cup watching the neighbourhood go by. I'm there no longer than five minutes when a woman walking a dog goes by and the symphony of barks - big, yippy, two or three singing from the house next door and their 19 friends down the street - begins. This continues until the woman walks around the corner and disappears.

I look back to Dad, wearing his striped robe and opening the Globe and Mail's Arts section, blissfully unaware. It's interesting moving from a city where my usual Sunday noises are half-drunk crazies from the street and ambulances going by, which is a happening weekend night of sounds here. In the silence of the suburbs, this moment of shrieking dogs blew me away. Yet those here year-round, have gotten used to it.

Dad looks up, smiles at me, and sips his coffee.

The machine starts again inside. Someone else is up. The house is stirring.

Yes, the big moments in life are so important, but so are these small ones. I want to bottle that time with my Dad up, enjoying each other's presence and the happenings of the world around us, and take it with me everywhere.

Hope you had a lovely weekend, filled with just as many small events as big ones.