Sometimes I wish I could just stop time.
Those perfect moments where, you are in the moment, everything is bliss, and you don't want time to ever progress.
Those moments are fleeting, but I hold onto them forever.
Sitting by a swimming hole in the river with your best buddies, on a warm summer day in the sunshine, diving off the rocks, splashing around.
Watching the sun set over the ocean, on a buddy's back porch.
Ripping down the mountain on a perfect snow day, or blasting down a trail on a warm summer evening.
Being in the glow of deep subspace, basking in your dominant's presence and your own submission, or a perfectly vanilla moment, watching the sun set in the hills together.
That camping trip up river where the oly stubby bottles all floated away down the river because we had them in there to keep cool, and where Nick had that howling call-and-response duet with that coyote. It was an awesome time- even with the lost beer, and made it hard to come back to work the next day.
That perfect solo trip up to that mountain lake last summer.
You just want to stop time. Sit up on that mountain forever, keep taking runs on that perfect snow day and never get tired, and keep each other warm watching that sunset, stretching that moment forever. Not even Einstein could do that.
So last month, Mom sold our house. It had to happen; she's in an assisted living place now and there was no logical reason to keep it as our own personal "Air Beianbee." Nor the upkeep funds, which she obviously needed. That place she's at isn't cheap. So while my logical mind has long since accepted it, and emotionally I have long since done so as well, subconsciously I still dream about it, sometimes reliving that last day where I walked through it and grabbed what I could out of there, other times reliving the good moments, the perfect family moments- Christmases, happy occasions, harmony, sanctuary from a troubled world- that I don't ever want to let go of.
I had hoped that the buyers would be a family with kids, who would grow up there, and who would enjoy the place as we did when we were kids. Tromping through the hills and woods below, playing ball in the street, riding bikes around the block, having kid adventures, and running up and down stairs and through the living room and dining room, laughing, playing, and sometimes arguing, the way we did. That's how I imagined it, what I hoped and dreamed. But sadly, it appears the buyers are just some big time billionaire property investor types, whose only plan is to "Fix it n' flip it," like what happens to so many other homes these days. They offered $400,000 over the already impressive 2 million+ asking price. That's cash, not financed, mind you. Mom had no choice but to accept an offer like that. I get it, money talks, but money cannot buy you those perfect, genuine, lasting moments that we had.
And I only hope that the future will offer more of those moments, those perfect times where you just want to slow down and not let time slip away.