Sunrise, Sunset

Another thing about moving is that it forces upon you the reality that time is moving right along.

For example, while clearing out the attic my husband holds up a worn piece of soft-side luggage. "What do you think, toss?" he says. My immediate, gut level reaction is, "What? Why would I toss an almost brand new suitcase my grandma gave me as a college graduation present??" Then, of course, rational brain kicks in. "Um, college graduation was twenty years ago and your grandma died in 1995. That is some OLD baggage you're holding onto there."

Or, in the back of a kitchen drawer I find a plastic baggie full of plug guards. When we first moved into this house, my toddler son needed to be guarded from such dangers as electrical sockets. I hold the bag in my hand and wonder, "Where did my babies go?"

And some of our wedding gifts are beginning to show their wear: cookie pans, pot holders, towels, small appliances. And I think, "But these are nearly new. They're wedding presents!" Um, those would be twelve year old pans, cloths, and salad shooters, right?

Oh right.