There are Stories

There are stories of Saturday’s nearly four hours spent driving in the snow, dull wipers scraping ice chucks back and forth across the windshield as the snow swirled white and heavy in the headlights.

Stories of a home in the snow, board games and thirteen of my classmates scattered throughout living room, dining room. Heads together, strategizing. Exclaiming over lost points and lessons learned and forgotten and an exceptional roll of the dice.

Stories of the little girl of the house; professor’s daughter, two years old. She sits on my lap, smells of shampoo and fruit juice, and her wispy black hair tickles my cheek. Around the card table, we’re playing Time Line and I’ve guessed a date wrong, hand her the discarded date. She wraps tiny fingers around the card, tells me it’s hers, and it feels like Lala, Jaid, sitting there with me, sippy cup in one hand, playing card in the other.

There are many stories, all kinds of stories; you’ve got them and I’ve got them. Pay attention and everything is a story, really. Maybe a story you share, typing words onto a WordPress square, or a Facebook post, or a memoir. Maybe a story you treasure, flipping open journal- little book- pages, writing tiny, scrawled script in the moments that are free, the moments that can be spent remembering, uninterrupted. And some stories to move past, to leave behind, to heal from, learn from, grow strong from.

There’s a place for every story.

And tonight, for you, there are lines of stories of a Saturday in that warm old house in the snow, three days ago and yet moments woven into a day- a day of stories- that I’m still relishing.



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