Chasing Memories

My husband and I cuddle close on the king size bed with freshly pressed white sheets, and a fluffy down comforter. The warm, salty air swirls around us and rustles the sheer curtains draped around the balcony window. My skin is warm from soaking up the day's sun and my feet ache from the miles walked on the Pacific coast beach. My husband whispers something sweet in my ear and though it is indecipherable over the crashing ocean waves just feet away from where we snuggle, my heart flutters with infatuation. 

I shoot upright in bed and my heart races out of my chest. My eyes adjust to the darkness and I realize I am home in Michigan. The cool air rushes in through the window and my husband lies near me. We haven't traveled in 5 months. We are in quarantine. 

The bass of the music sets the tempo for my heartbeat and the sway of my hips. The cool citrus taste of my vodka soda with lime rushes over my tongue as I take the last sip. The cool New York night air rushes through my long wavy hair as I turn to my friend, K, as we laugh and dance and blow off the inviting glances of two men from the opposite side of the roof top bar. 

I'm covered in sweat and I'm back in my room. I'm shaking from the time hop and crushing reality. It has been more than 2 months since I have hugged a friend or danced in a bar. We are still in quarantine. 

The rickety, spinning ride swoops up and pauses briefly at the top and I catch a quick glimpse of the hundreds of peanut festival goers playfully scattering below. The ride quickly descends and my colleague shrieks with delight. Tears of laughter stream down our faces as the wind whips around us. We return safely to solid ground and laugh until we can't breathe. 

I gasp for air and throw the suffocating covers off of me. My eyes dart quickly around the room. There are no festivals, there is no work travel. We are in quarantine. 

My son rushes toward the water, buckets in one hand, a shovel in the other. He drops to his knees and begins to dig. I smile and  spread a blanket on the sand and open my book. His periodic giggles are my soundtrack. The early morning chill off the Atlantic ocean triggers goosebumps up and down my arms and legs. 

Chills cover my body as I reach for the covers and tuck myself back in from yet another startling wake up into life in quarantine. 

In the daytime, I understand the reality of the pandemic. In the daytime, I can comprehend the new normal. In the daytime, I am grateful for all that we have and avoid clinging to what was. 

But in the nighttime, I chase memories. 

Stealing Time

The older I get, the faster time seems to go. My children are growing up too fast, I'm planning writing projects and college semesters well into my forties but I'm still in my thirties, and every now and then I look at my parents and wonder when they got so old.

Time is one thing we have absolutely no control over but our perception can sometimes be skewed - the hard times seem to last forever and sometimes we get so busy we barely remember time passing at all. But every now and then... we get those moments that linger. Where everything around us seems to stop and for just a moment, we can bottle up the magic and hold on tight. Every now and then... we get a chance to steal time.

Fire nights....

The day has been long, the kids fighting sleep, the to do list growing ever longer, and the alcohol in my glass never quite strong enough. The flames of the fire pit cast a warm heat on my body and a gentle light on my husband's face and his eyes glisten. Soft music plays in the background and he taps he foot to the slow tempo. He sings the sweet words at a barely audible level and his lips curl up a little at the edges and I know that he sees me. The summer nights will fade but the heat from the fire and his eyes keep me warm throughout the year. On the longest, coldest, hardest days of the year, he is with me, singing a soft sweet melody.

The voice of thunder...

The organ starts, hymnals open, deep breath in. His deep, low voice fills my ears, the space around us and my heart.  It's been more than 10 years since my Grandpa has passed away but I can hear his voice anywhere. In every church hymn, in every Christmas song, yelling at the TV on game day. I have yet to hear a sound that brings me such joy, such sadness, and deep affection as my Grandpa's voice. Each time he opened his mouth, I collected a little of his thunder to carry with me.

Midnight memories....

The baby cries again and I stumble blurry-eyed to his room and scoop him up into my arms. My neck aches from holding my head up and my eyelids hang heavy. But I catch a glimpse of his wispy hair flowing back and forth as we rock. His warm check against me as I nurse him. He crosses his feet and rubs my arm with his tiny little hand. Silence and darkness surrounds us. Not a single need for us except to be in this moment. I am oh so tired but also so eager to hold on to this precious embrace. I squeeze the time from each little second until he pulls away to settle back into his bed with his lovey.

What are the memories you hold in your heart, that you carry with you? The times when, just for a moment, you steal a little extra time and tuck it away?