I sat today reading the words I had pecked out so long ago here in this little space.  I thought I had deleted this blog a year ago when life became busy and time became scarce.  It turns out, I never got around to deleting this blog, though the guilt I felt at not writing here reliably had told me that I should.  So I sit, pondering.  Do I write?  Do I delete?  Do I simply walk away and let it be?  Reading my own words about that first gluten free Thanksgiving took me back to that little condo with the tiny kitchen where a new chapter of my life began.  I thought back to last year, to the not so tiny kitchen in the home that feels just right to me and felt a pang at all the memories that will slip away.  The year Sweet One was gone I had oodles of time and not much desire nor ability to slumber so I wrote.  He came home late that October back in 2010 and the flurry of holiday with two families began.  It was the following February that we closed on our home.  Eight months after that we traveled once again to my favorite place on Earth and stood in a field I had long dreamed of saying “I do” in and that dream became reality.  A few weeks later his mother hosted a wedding reception for us.  By then the holiday chaos had begun in earnest again and yet another year had passed.  Twelve months have gone by in a flurry since all of that occurred.  I have to stop and do the math every once in awhile when someone asks me how long I have been gluten free, or what year he was deployed, or how long we’ve lived in our house.  I have always blamed my lack of ability to comprehend the movement of time on the fact I do not have a child in my home.  There are fewer markers of time when there are not small ones around.  I sigh a bit to myself when I realize that in all those months that have gone by there are no words written to explain my heart and mind.  I never wrote of them, not even for myself.  Instead I was busy living this crazy life of mine.

Perhaps I will find words again.  I can not go back and fill in all those months.  It would take too long to sort out my heart and figure out the words to convey it all.  Besides, time always changes perspective and what I wrote now would not be true of how I felt then.  The lessons I have learned and the places I have been taken would taint the memories and the recollections.  Time moves too fast for me, but I am still grateful for the life I am living along the way.