freeze frame

Today, I was in Hobby Lobby buying a skein of black yarn when I heard a toddler in the next aisle chirping to her mom for juice. Her voice sounded just like my daughter Lauren when she was two, only she called it juicy. That voice sent me tumbling down a time tunnel and a pang of nostalgia jabbed me under the ribs.

I miss those days of juicy. I miss being responsible for deciding someone else's hairdo, besides my own. I miss the dorky barrettes I used to make from balloons. Barrettes only a pre-schooler could love. For a while, I wandered about the store as if hunting the decades that had past without my permission. But, eventually, I had to pay up and leave, lest fellow shoppers start whispering about the funny lady aimlessly loitering with a far-away look in her eye.

Once outside, I paused to breathe in the crisp air. I made myself give thanks for that breath, and then looked around for something else to appreciate. Two legs that work, an old van with a seat worn perfectly to match my bottom. A cup of tea awaiting me at home. Life passes so quickly. You can never stop the frame, no matter how beautiful. You must keep living this very moment, even if some days the rear view mirror beckons, because this minute holds enough.