Thoughts on moments

…and not momentous thoughts.

I stumbled across the blog “one small sentence” which gives one small explanation of itself:

You know how one small sentence can make a difference in a day, a week, a month, a year? We do. Each week we take one small sentence from a book we’re currently reading and share how it changed the world for us – sometimes for just a moment and sometimes forever. A photograph, a few paragraphs, a hint at the scene beyond the curtains.

Yeah, I get that.

Last weekend the husband and I flew to Seattle to surprise my sister for her 60th birthday. It’s the kind of trip that deserves it’s own post, but it somehow just felt like a moment. I just want to quietly internalize the quick yet heartfelt re-connection with my sister, my nieces, and some nearly sisters (dear friends of my own sister.) Just one quick moment in one amazing life that I am fortunate enough to be a part of.

There was a line in a book that I read in the past year (maybe Mister Monkey, but I’m not sure), something to the effect of, “you never have to remind him how much older he is than his father was at the end of his life, it is now x years/months/days.” It’s hard not to project your parents lifetime as being what you can expect for your own.

60 is just a number, but it looms large in my family. My mother, a grandmother I barely remember, and a grandfather I never knew all died at 60 or thereabouts.

Moments come at you unexpected. A former neighbor and fellow high school band parent is fighting cancer and had a health scare last week. He always used to buy a pack of peanuts at the high school football games and he was always excited to find three-peanuts-in-a-shell. They were like a four-leaf clovers to him. Last night at the baseball game, my bag of peanuts contained several three-peanuts-in-a-shell. Hadn’t thought of that quirk of his in years. A moment to remember and send some extra thoughts his way.

Driving onto Whidbey Island last weekend, we crossed over the bridge at Deception Pass. It’s a beautiful spot that I had visited before and wanted to share with the husband. The tide was coming in and the water was rushing through the pass so quickly that it looked like a river and not the ocean. On our way off the island the following day, the tide was going out, like a river reversing course. Two moments.

I enjoy the meditative exercise of walking a labyrinth. There’s one path, no wrong turns, you spiral into the center and back out again. I interpret the center as the now. Walking in is your entire past. Walking out is your entire future. Your present is always the half way point. It’s not a matter of time or years; it’s a matter of one moment with a before and an after.

Take a moment today. To read, to sing, to listen. To find one small sentence that can make a difference. To celebrate just this moment.

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