Our House, In the Middle of Our Street...

Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of--Benjamin Franklin. I adore clocks--just ask Shayne, if you do not believe. A blank space on a wall? It begs for a clock. It doesn't matter if they work or not (and I have plenty of those, again, defer to Shayne). At least, only one has to work to keep us functioning in tandem with the rest of society. And, even then, I usually set it forward. Why? I don't have a good answer for that. I just do. As a child, I remember curling up on our blue love seat in the living room. Facing south, the afternoon sun streamed in through a large window and I would bask in the opportunity to take a long nap. And what was the last remnant of consciousness I processed? The ticking of a clock. That clock lingers in my memories as one of the many patchwork pieces constructing the metaphor for my childhood. I've always been fascinated by the concept of time and the inability we have to capture one moment, hoping to soak up every bit of possible emotion it has to offer. In the last year, more than ever before in my life, I have lost my ability to remember so many of those moments. I don't know the cause--I ponder over it often and have many a quick quip for justifying my lack of memory clarity. I hope it is not permanent. At least, I tell myself it will only last as long as I am a strung-out mother/wife/daughter. You know, until that day when I have nothing more in my life titled "stress." I pray some of those memories aren't gone forever--they were never long enough to begin with, some of them. As I realize today the way our lives morphed so vehemently three years ago--most likely at this very moment in time, then. We turned onto a street called Coventry and knew we had found home. It was the beginning of a dream come true for me. The chance to come back to where I found the most peace, to be surrounded by the mountains I adore and the people I love most. Not a day passes, not a moment of time slips away that I do not carry in my heart a constant utterance of gratitude to the Lord for giving me each moment here, and a prayer for its continuance...