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memories

I remember that fateful September morning vividly. The day dawned, with crisp, clear blue sky and the sun shining down brightly. It was a just a normal morning. Then the call came. It was my grandmother, who still lived in Germany at the time. She heard the news before us and called to see if we were okay. We went to a neighbor's house and sat glued to the television, watching something that looked out of a  movie. I remember the disbelief, the tears, the uncertainty. I remember wondering why and mourning the loss of so many lives. September 11th. It's a day I will never forget as long as I live.

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Time is fleeting all too quickly. The tenth anniversary of 9/11, ten years that passed so quickly, reminded me of this fact. I think often about how each day that passes is a day closer to the day of our death. That may sound pessimistic, but it's a thought that enters my mind often. Now that a routine has resumed, I hate getting lost into the monotony of it all, each day passing identical to its predecessor. I'm striving to make each day unique, special, even if it's just in a small way, instead of letting it pass like any other day. Because we don't really have time for wasting days -- instead, I'm vowing to seize the day. I'm vowing to stop wasting time and do what can be done now instead of waiting for a tomorrow that may be nonexistent. It's an uphill battle, honestly. I'm human. I'm weak, I fail, I'm a sinner. It's only through the grace of Christ that I can make it another day.

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We walked along the river -- which, thanks to the drought, is really more of a big puddle than a river -- yesterday. My sisters walked hand in hand with my parents, my brother wove between them on his ripstik, and I strayed behind them, photographing and lost in my own world. And as the sun slipped behind the horizon, spilling dappled light on the world, I took mental images, willing myself not to forget these moments.

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The weekend was one of remembering and recalling, bunting and ice cream socials in the backyard, friends and laughter, long walks in perfect weather and the sparkling of sunshine on the water. And I had my first root beer float of my life. Really. I can't say it was my favorite, but hey, I tried it and that's all that matters.
Each precious moment was like a brushstroke of color in the painting of life. The challenging, stressful moments outweighed by the sun drenched, smiling, heart warming moments in the intricately, carefully painted canvas of life -- a piece of artwork that's still being worked on by the master artist.

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And today? It's Jeremiah's birthday. A whole eleven years have passed since he entered this world a slippery pink screaming baby. A whole eleven years that he's brought joy and laughter to the family. He's the one who will always laugh at my jokes, that one who I can tell anything, the one I can be silly and bust out my dance moves with. Happy birthday, Jeremiah. I love you. So much.

Happy Monday, friends.

-carlotta