Why I Rarely Take Pictures

The Pacific Ocean was exceptionally beautiful that late summer day. My husband and I slipped off our shoes and walked the sandy beach.

We had moved to the Pacific Northwest nearly fifteen years ago, a far cry from the small Midwest town we’d grown up in. It was while we were on vacation that we fell in love with the area, the mountains, the valley, and most of all, the ocean.

The ocean mesmerized us from the start. The way it clambered up rocky beds, how it churned and spit frothy water. Its untamed beauty. Its wildness. Its serenity.

We watched the waters draw closer, daring to kiss our bare toes. My husband took my hand and pulled me towards him. Waves hit rocks in a thunderous roar. Foam rose over foam.

A perfect picture moment, one I wanted forever engraved in my mind. I reached inside my bag with my left hand, looking for my camera, but it was stuck. I began to pull my other hand from my husband’s grasp, when I stopped.

I looked at our fingers, ten little pieces of bone and flesh, intertwined, then looked back at the sea. This place, the way the sea rose and fell, the way waves crossed one another in fragmented angles and sun beamed on water’s sharp edges, would never happen again. The ocean never looks the same way twice.

But that moment, my husband and I entranced by the scene before us, our hands merged as one, that moment right then. Right there. That would never come again either.

Once a moment is gone, it is gone forever. There is no replay button in life. Click To Tweet

I pulled my hand out of the bag, and leaned closer to my husband, squeezing our fingers tighter. He looked over and smiled.

A chilly breeze swept across the sands. Gulls glided in a rhythmic motion of grace. A perfect picture moment. A moment I would never see again. A moment I would never forget.

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Here’s to the Moms

It is the month of Moms. A time to remember and celebrate the women who gave us life,
Who dedicate themselves to their families,
Who sacrifice,
And give,
Even when they have nothing left.

Here’s to the moms:
Who mend and clean,
Who cook and care,
Whose jobs are many:
Chauffer,
Judge,
Lawyer.
Teacher,
Nurse,
Caterer.
Party Planner, CEO, and Personal Chef.

Here’s to the moms whose days include:
Child Psychology,
Potty-Training,
Nose-Wiping,
Housekeeping,
Hair Styling,
Teeth Cleaning,
And Diaper Duty.

Here’s to the moms:
Who balance check books,
Do errands,
And counsel the sad.
Who shop for gifts,
Mend a stuffed animal,
And tuck babies in bed.

Here’s to the Moms
Who never quit,
Who fight for what they love the most.
Who do it all,
And never ask why.

Here’s to the moms who sacrifice,
And sometimes forget they are more than moms.

Here’s to the Moms. May your month be as beautiful as you.

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Everything Comes Together in the End

It’s three in the afternoon, and I forgot to write my blog post. Sometimes, I have no idea where my head is.

I’ve forgotten important matters more than once. Like planning dinner, and attending a party in which my son and husband were the main guests. Once I left a pile of shrimp on the kitchen counter all day long. Needless to say, the smell of that reminder lingered for days.

It would be easy to beat myself up for forgetting, but if I did that, I’d be black-and-blue by now. It would easy to give up and say it can’t be fixed. I could whine and moan and complain, but what would that accomplish? And to degrade ourselves for a simple act of forgetting is just pointless.

The truth is, we all make mistakes. We all forget. And usually, there is nothing so important that a simple solution can’t be found.

Like the shrimp dinner, which was replaced with a quick grilled tuna sandwich. And this forgotten blog post led to a little letter to you, to remind you that life isn’t as serious as we sometimes make it. Little things aren’t worth fretting over. And everything comes together in the end.

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