Time Keeps On Slipping, Slipping, Slipping...

     

     So, I haven't been here in a long time. The site says I last posted 11/11, look how quickly time is passing us through this life! This pic was taken aboard the top level of a tour bus in Rome. We're heading back to Vatican City (that's St Peter's Dome ahead) and the pic reminds me of us hurtling toward Heaven or the Pearly Gates.

     A lot of life has happened during the last time I've posted, much of it posted to my FB page or journaled.  Yes, even in the days of Blogger and FB, Twitter and Instagram, I continue to journal. It's second nature to me to journal and it's therapeutic too. I remember my first diary/journal: I was twelve years old and my Aunt Mary was taking my momma and I on a road trip to Oregon to visit my Uncle Bunny and to pick wild berries. To keep me from being bored silly and eventually wear on her nerves, she bought me a small, pink diary with Minnie and Mickey Mouse on its cover.

     That little book with its gold-gilded edges soon became the most important piece of property I had ever owned. Even more important than my stuffed turtle named Timothy.  More important than my Bonne Bell lipgloss in cherry flavour. Every chance I could get time to myself, in a private area, I'd religiously list the day's events, my fantasy life with then crushes Michael and Randy Jackson, my favorite songs or favorite Scriptures. And because I was the only kid on the weeklong trip, I knew my secrets were safely stored with my luggage and safe from pilfering cousins and sister. 

     So, when that little book filled, I bought another more grown up diary from Walgreen's and have carried on adding to my collection to this day.  I don't know how many journals I've collected over time, but it's a good estimate that I have more than 30 of every type, colour and volume.  And though the journals have become more expensive than my little pink diary, this is the one I continue to read each passing year reminding myself of how quickly time changes us.  

     Sometimes I find myself laughing at the dreams and whimsies of that little fat twelve year old, sometimes I wish I could go back and tell her to stop being so frightened of everything and live.  More than anything I wish I could have told her to be courageous or she was going to miss a whole lot of living. But then, maybe it's a good thing she was scary all that time. Then she would have missed the wonder, the joy and the power that accompanies her newfound freedom. 

       Once again, a lot of life has happened since my last post here, and if God is good, a lot more living will be done and privately journaled to be read one quiet, rainy day.