Maybe It’s Menopause. Maybe It’s Just Memory.

I’m not sure if it’s menopause or if my brain has simply reached the stage where I walk out of the house wearing the wrong shoes…or forget my shoes altogether.

Lately, though, it’s been something else.

An Instagram reel will pop up about grandparents in the ‘80s having their grandkids over for the weekend, and before I even realize what’s happening, I’m crying.

The funny thing is, it’s never the big moments I remember first.

It’s the ordinary ones.

Friday nights at Luby’s with my grandparents.

I can still picture exactly what I’d order: fish fillet, macaroni and cheese, and cabbage.

Yes…cabbage.

What child orders cabbage? Apparently, I did.

I’m sure I had dessert too, but somehow that’s the part I’ve forgotten.

What I haven’t forgotten are the trips to the grocery store afterward. I think it was Kroger. We’d walk down the cookie aisle, and I’d always look for those pinwheel cookies. You know the ones…marshmallow rolled inside a soft cookie and dipped in chocolate.

I haven’t seen them in years.

I’m not even sure they still make them.

Isn’t it funny what our minds decide to hold onto?

Not birthdays.

Not holidays.

But fish, cabbage, grocery store trips, and a cookie that’s probably been gone for decades.

I don’t know why certain memories show up when they do.

Maybe it’s because the world feels like it’s changing so fast.

Maybe it’s because I wish, every once in a while, that time would slow down…or even go backward for just a little while.

Or maybe it’s because now I’m the grandparent.

Now it’s my turn to create the memories.

I hope one day my grandchildren remember something wonderfully ordinary.

Maybe it’s making cookies together.

Maybe it’s Saturday morning pancakes.

Maybe it’s a favorite restaurant or a silly tradition I don’t even realize I’m creating.

I hope they remember the little things.

That’s probably why I write these journal entries.

Well…blog posts.

Website entries.

Whatever we’re calling them these days.

I think of them a little like those guest books you find in vacation homes or Airbnbs. The ones where families leave little notes about the week they spent together.

These aren’t meant to tell my whole story.

They’re just little snapshots.

Tiny pieces of what life looked like through my eyes.

Maybe one day my children, grandchildren, or even great-grandchildren will read them and smile.

Although, knowing how fast technology changes, these websites may not even exist in another twenty years.

Maybe I should print them.

See?

Now I’m overthinking it again.