Rose Colored Glasses

It's a flat out gorgeous weekend here. This is the kind of weather we don't tell others about, else everyone would move here. We like to let people think that it rains all the time. Shhh... don't mention the 80 degrees and sunshine.

I've been tripping through some old memories in preparing myself to write my Grandma's story. Beautiful memories, all good. In doing so, I've been wishing I could sit and talk to Grandma again, and reliving my time spent in Hungary. If there was ever a perfect time in my life, it was when I was there. It enriched me, it changed me forever, it saved me from myself. A big part of me longs to go back, but at the same time I realize that I wouldn't be going back to that time. Everything has changed. The country has changed, people have grown older, some have died. Even me - I wouldn't be seeing it with the same eyes that I did when I was younger - my whole outlook on everything has changed drastically over the years. This river of time changes the texture of the shores. So, maybe the biggest impetus for me writing the book is that I'll get to revisit not only a country that I love, a people that I love, and a time that was beyond diamonds in worth, but I'll get to spend some ethereal time with Rose Schmutzer as well. We're no longer separated by age and distance, but only by the rift that divides this world from the next. In my mind, it's a smaller gap to bridge. I'm looking forward to delving into Grandma's history, getting to know her better, assuming her mindset.

"Time is but a stream I go fishing in."
~Henry David Thoreau