I was always too busy to slow down growing up.

My feet to quick for my pigeon-toed feet, turning just enough inward to trip me on an almost daily basis. Whenit was my turn to lead the line in class, one teacher had me walk one foot in front of the other to slow me down for the laggers trying to extend the  respite from classroom and desks and learning.

Quick to finish the multiplication tables, quick to recite the Gettysburg Address (I think my record was 49 seconds in 5th grade)quick to read the chapters in class silently, reading ahead to give me something to do until everyone else finished.

Too quick to read all of the directions, scanning to see the general idea and plowing ahead, quick to assume, quick to misjudge.

Now life is too quick. I’m awake, I make breakfast and make a list for the day.

Then life speeds by, the list is lost, the list is changed. Nighttime and everything is pushed back, the day a blur.

Life is a blur to me. I grasp to remember memories, my always- horrible memory blurring life like the pencil lead across the page, making the letters and words blurry.

One minute Wonder Boy is snuggled in a baby swing, then he is in a jumper, now  he climbs the couch like a mountaineer, crowing with pleasure as he looks down the other side, flat and treacherous as Half Dome.

My husband, sweet and poetic, holding my hand in high school. Bringing me donuts from his first job, standing at the end of the aisle, swinging his son overhead.

Please, please slow down a little life.