Organized chaos

We spent half our evening searching. No, not for a house buyer. No, not for a missing child's sock. No, not for our minds, though all of these thing happen regularly around here.

We spent it digging deep into our storage room for a lost journal.

It all started earlier in the evening when I stumbled upon a bottle of wine I had been searching for, waiting for for more than two years. Maybe even three.

When I saw it, I rushed to the register to buy it. The price of $18 didn't bother me even though I knew it was too much. Everything is too much for us these days.

But, it wasn't about price or even the wine inside.

It was about memories. Dear memories that bring us back to Chatham, Massachusetts on Cape Cod ... to a place, a restaurant, that despite countless searches we do not remember the name of. The one next to the infamous Marion's Pie Shop. The one that sparkles in our memories from that wonderful trip that started with friends in Boston.

For some reason our vacation journal ends abruptly, unfinished. So that chocolate cake and whatever we oohed and ahhed over at dinner is all lost in our dusty memories from those days -- those days before we became parents.

But, the wine. That we remember. We rushed to the nearest liquor store and bought a bottle. We kept buying it until ... until they stopped producing it due to some technicality in the wine business.

None of that matters.

We weren't searching all night for any of this. All of this, in fact, led us to a more desperate search.

Our honeymoon journal.

Those are memories we most certainly want to cling to.

And, yet.

And, yet ... they are missing and fading and my God we must find that journal.

Still, I'm thankful that bottle of wine popped up on the shelf in front of my eyes. I'm thankful those memories -- all of them -- came rushing back.

It was a good night.



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