1. Lying in the fishing boat we kept anchored to the old wooden dock on the lake at the house I grew up in. I would lay there for hours, sometimes still in my pajamas, writing poetry, dreaming about becoming a journalist in New York City, or sometimes just laying doing nothing at all except listening to the waves lap against the shore and stare into the clouds.
2. In the wintertime, on that very same lake, ice skating in circles and dips, my big green pom-poms bouncing on my ice skates, enjoying the stillness, the solitude, and quiet that comes with early morning.
3. Midnight sliding on New Year’s Eve with my boys, my sisters, my nieces and nephews. My parent’s house was on a hill, and we had many sleds of all shapes and sizes–toboggans, round saucers, and wooden sleighs with runners. After we all brought in the new year together we went outside and enjoyed the thrill of the hill. Sliding with the kids, everyone bundled up so nothing was exposed except faces with bright eyes, rosy cheeks from the cold, and the widest smiles I have ever seen.
4. Road trips with my boys from Colorado to Minnesota, the music we listened to–everything from Grover Levy and DC Talk to Colin Ray–the games we played–like trying to find license plates from all 50 states and “I Spy”–to the cherished conversations we had. They would tell me about their deepest secrets in the confines of that little black Chevy Prizm. Time I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.
5. Sitting around a bonfire by the lake, the fire glowing orange, blue in the deepest, hottest areas at the center, the crackling of the flames and sparkling light of the fireflies down below the hill from where we sat roasting the perfect marshmallows for the s’mores we devoured. Then we would catch some fireflies and keep them in a jar so we could watch them throughout the night as we were tucked safely in bed.
6. Christmas Eve as a child, my parents, my sisters and me sitting around the Christmas tree that was decorated every year with multi-colored lights and ornaments we made in school, reading the story of Jesus’s birth from the book of Luke in the Bible before we were allowed to open one carefully wrapped present. From there we went to my grandparents house where we gathered with aunts, uncles and cousins, ate a festive Christmas meal, followed by presents and playing with our new toys before going to Midnight Mass.
7. At fourteen years of age, cleaning cabins at a lakeside resort. I would get up early Saturday morning, walk down the country road to Fishin’ Mission Resort and clean cabins, enjoying the time spent with one of my sister’s who also worked there, as well as a couple of our friends. We met so many fun people at that resort and made so many memories.
8. After high school I lived with my grandparents for a few months while I went to college and worked at a local business, getting home between 11:00 p.m. and 1:00 a.m. My grandma would either be waiting up for me or would wake up and sit with me at the kitchen table and we would talk about so many things. Sometimes just about the evening. My grandma wanting to hear about my night at work. Treasured moments indeed.
9. We had a wood-burning barrel stove in the house I grew up in. So many fun times revolved around that stove. Like my whole family going deep into the woods to cut wood in the fall, the smell of the freshly cut pine or oak, the smell and sound of the chainsaw, working hard and taking breaks to walk and explore in the woods. On winter evenings my sisters and I would carry wood from the woodpile outside, the pure whiteness of the snow making it look anything but nighttime, each carrying in our five armloads before we could stop. And after sliding and ice skating, throwing the hard wet snow that collected on the bottom of my snow pants and my mittens onto the barrel stove, listening to it sizzle.
10. And the best memory of all, the day each of my boys were born. Little did I know at that time, that that day would change every day of the rest of my life. The memories collected in my life’s journey from that day forward is indescribable and could fill a multi-volume set of books. And I do love to write.
All is Grace.