I moved from my lifelong neighborhood and up the mountain 20 years ago this week. I had found the man of my dreams and so I left the man of nightmares and moved from the foothills up into the mountains. I love it here. It is home.

I left a barren wasteland and came here to create my safe haven of gardens and cats and opinions. I write about all this in my other blogs.

In doing so I put physical distance between myself and 38 years of confusion, pain, and heartache. Unfortunately, I also put physical distance between myself and people I love dearly, my children and grandchildren. It couldn’t be helped.

Time and distance are deadly foes. They create a rift not easily spanned.

In the last 20 years, babies have grown to adulthood and have babies of their own. Teenager’s have matured to middle age. I have grown old.

Growing old is much like that trip up the mountain. With height and age you gain a perspective not found otherwise. It is something not easily shared, one must make the climb or live through the years to reach the summit and see the view from here.

Twenty years. Should the Gods and Goddesses give me 20 more, I wonder what I will see from my mountain? I wonder what marvels will become apparent to me if I reach that age?

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