“Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered, for they are gone forever. “ – Horace Mann 

One morning many years ago, when my towering youngest son was about a foot shorter and still being driven to elementary school, he asked me an interesting question: “When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

When I thought about it, I realized that, while I always wanted to write, there was one other thing that captivated my imagination—being an archeologist.

I was entranced with things of the past, the older the better. I still am. My father nurtured in my soul a love of the mysterious and of things ancient—the statues of Easter Island, the Cahokia Mounds in Illinois, the ruins of Machu Picchu in Peru, Stonehenge in England. The list is endless.

More realistically, my romance with things old includes furniture, houses, books, stone walls, and most especially stone stairs that end as mysteriously as they begin; steps to nowhere. We may have seen them on the grounds of some historic site or among the renovated buildings of a spiritual retreat center. Perhaps they are stumbled across while walking through the woods or along the banks of a river, remnants of a life that once was and a history that somehow now connects with our own.

It is easy to be enamored of the past, to live in the fantasy of it; the memories lend themselves to crafting by the workings of our minds.

Sometimes it’s a creative endeavor, sometimes it’s a coping mechanism for processing our experiences and emotions. But when we become mired in memories, we are prevented from recognizing the gift of the present moment.

The past should not be forgotten.

Past moments, past loves, past losses and accomplishments have all shaped us into who we are. They have formed our perspective and our behaviors. But to come to a standstill in our past is to surrender the potential of the present.

Sadly, there are also those who give up the present to focus solely on the future. My parents, like many, lost much in planning so great a part of their enjoyment for the day when they retired. Ultimately, my mother retired when cancer got the best of her; my father spent his retirement caring for her, rarely leaving the house, and then he died before she did. Neither got to do the things they planned their whole lives to do.

Most sorely missed were those opportunities when we, as a family, could have spent time together and didn’t because we allowed some seemingly pressing concern to interfere with the “now” of our relationship. My sons, especially, suffered the loss of time spent wrapped in the love of grandparents.

I once received a prayer card with a simple piece of prose that recalled God as “I am.” Not “I was” or “I will be.” I kept it as a reminder of the holiness and preciousness of now.

Learning to live in the present was a hard lesson for me; one that came about through a variety of painful losses. Now I try to stay aware of the gift of this moment so I am not filled with regret at missed blessings or opportunities, especially the opportunity to spend time with loved ones before all the moments are a memory.

Mary Morrell writes from Colonia and Ortley Beach. She can be reached at [email protected], or read at http:// wellspringcommunications.typepad.com