On Friday evening, my husband and I stood in the driveway and chatted with neighbors. Eventually, we migrated to the porch and the kids played outside until dark. Once upon a time, I was that child, playing barefoot in my Wonder Woman underoos and feeling the freedom of summertime.
On Memorial Day, this arrived:
It’s becoming a tradition on our cul-de-sac. One day, our children will outgrow it. One day, many of us won’t live here anymore. When I look down the sidewalk, I see “For Sale” signs.
But for now, we play.
Recently, we celebrated a friend’s 39th birthday, and I told my husband to snap this photo of her, relaxing by the pool looking glam.
I recall a scene from more than two decades ago, when that same woman learned how to drive. She put the car in reverse and called out the window, “Bye, Daddy!”, and I waved to him from the passenger seat. I took a mental snapshot and told my friend I’d never forget that moment. Turns out, it’s true.
In my last post, many of you commented about the bittersweet “push and pull” of life. This dance we do, one of holding on and letting go. Perhaps I’m coming to terms with the tension. As summer rises, I notice the way many things circle back around. The landscape is different, but the experience is familiar. I see a pattern in the scenes that color the photo album of my life.