I forget a lot of things.  To write back to people who are so kind.  To turn on the crock pot so we have soup for lunch the next day.  To start the dishwasher.  I forget that I am half human AND half spirit, and that this is some kind of journey, not torture.  I forget my blog.

But when I hear the spring birds singing to the rising sun behind the clouds, and see the trees still outside my window steady and true, I remember.

I remember that I am truly an adventurous spirit that volunteered for this crazy ride.  Better than the Rocko Planes at the fair, I have to squeal and scream when I’m tossed around, feel like throwing up and my heart seems to burst from my chest.

And when I leave the ride, I want to be completely satisfied that I rode and rode and screamed and squealed as much as I possibly could–whether I forget or remember what I’m doing.