Just Floating

Late-lee, I’ve been thinking about how aging shifts what you notice and what you hold on to.

There was a time when an afternoon at the pond was all about catching some sun, laying out just right, maybe sipping on something cold and flipping through a magazine. I cared more about my tan lines than the timeline.

But these days? I care more about the memories than the melanin.

The other day I was just floating—literally—watching two of my grandbabies splash and play like the world was theirs for the taking. One was trying to work up the nerve to jump off the old drainage pipe like it was the high dive at the Olympics. The other was half fish, half wild child, doing cannonballs and belly flops like he had something to prove.

They were barefoot, sticky with popsicle juice, and just plain full of joy. And me? I wasn’t worried about the heat, or the time, or what was next. I was just out there, bobbing along like a cork in sweet tea—happy to be still, quiet, and right there in it.

It wasn’t some fancy trip. No bags packed and no plans made. Just a backyard pond, some sunshine, and two little ones making a memory without even knowing it. I can’t wait until my 3rd grandchild is old enough to join in the fun of these sweet summertime moments.

Years ago, I might’ve missed it—too busy doing, planning, perfecting. But age has a way of tugging your heart toward the little things. And Lord willing, I’ve got enough sense now to soak them up while I can.

Turns out, life’s not stitched together by the big, loud moments. It’s sewn up in afternoons just like this one—slow, simple, and full of the kind of love that lingers. And somehow, that quiet little afternoon stitched itself into the fabric of a life well-loved.