Old Journals. some things stay the same

Old Journals- some things stay the same.

In 1996, just shortly after I discovered I was expecting my fifth child, little Sam, I took a walk in our Chicago neighborhood. I have no memory of the details but most likely, I wanted to clear my mind. When I got home I wrote:
“ Thought too, of how there is no quiet place to think. Even while walking on quiet residential streets or sitting over a cup of coffee, I’m bombarded by the outside. The only place is somewhere inside of me, I need to crawl inside to that place and be there.”
The outside distractions are always here and many of them so very important in their particular time. These filled up lives of ours that need to be cleared, that need time to think about what is bigger and true, these are our lives and they require of us to find that place inside.

Each time when I come back to the U.S., I sort through my things. Many things I’ve saved because they seemed important at one time, but then the next time through, I sort again and decide they are not and I throw them. Then I’ll add something new, perhaps a teapot my mom left behind in her home when she moved out, or a serving bowl from mama Larson that is old and interesting. These things now I want to save, but I know that someday I may change my mind and give them away. This present moment is all we have and I know that my full life with its many storied memories will move along and even what is important at one time, may not be important the next time around.  Right now, I have new baby memories with my grandchildren. I hold them tight. I sit in my daughter’s red chair looking at every detail of her little daughter’s face. I feel her little soft skin, with even greater urgency because I know I’ll be leaving soon. I know that I’ll forget. My mind will not be able to hold all of this, my heart and the cells in my body might keep this, but I will forget these moments as I have already with my first little ones, my very own little babies. Life is full and most of it ends somewhere beyond our memory.

I am storied full, with the outside every day of my life taking charge of my present. Still now, that journal entry I wrote one evening after a particular walk, stands true. There is a needful quiet place where I find my truth and think thoughts that count, this place inside myself, and I must put aside the outside every day and hold on to this part that is always here.

That place where I hold on to the important stuff of the moment and let go of the noise of things gone by.

That place inside.

This week a baby was in our house, he crawled under a little stool, a little small place he could only fit. Something inside all of us likes that little spot. I have pictures in my mind of that little space, a tent fort, or puppies sleeping under tables..those yearnings to be in that quiet muffled cabin while the storms outside are blowing.