Last night I was looking through some of my original posts, trying to find the words to match a picture. Along the way, I ran across this post about when my brother and I were little. I was struck by the writing, one of those times when you look back and think, Did I really write this? And I was disappointed that it wasn’t finished. Now that I mentioned that, I’m a bit embarrassed — what if you hop to the link and think: Is that all? I thought Ruth said it was good? — anyway, it strucka chord in me & I want to finish it.
The hours would pass as our imaginations played out a grand adventure, which, in the end, would always lead us to bittersweet victory. Sure we overcame evil, but The Puddles once again escaped capture, so they were still out there, plotting to destroy the world . . .
It’s been many years since the dusty air of the barn loft has entered my nose. It’s been many years since Jeff and I have had an entire day to spend vanquishing evil, just the two of us against the dark forces of the universe. It’s been many years since we’ve used our secret code hand signals. And although it’s been many years since we’ve lived in the same town, these adventures still feel as fresh as they did when I was nine. Maybe it’s because my imagination is as alive now as it was then. I have Jeff to thank for this. He always dreamed big, never saw the limits, and pursued his choices with happiness and zeal . . . and he helped me to do the same.
Unhurried. Finding the magic in the middle of living. Capturing a life of ridiculous grace + raw stories.