There is no place I love more than our camp in autumn in morning. Sleepy visitors, strangers and friends—flannel, hoodies, blankets, glasses, mussed hair, smiles—gather together in The Dining Hall for breakfast when the ringing bell echoes over the steaming lake. The aroma of bacon marries the familiar scent of burnt wood and marshmallows from last night’s campfires. Crisp air. Leaves dropping. Coffee. Laughter.
Breathe deep and memorize it in your heart, for these are The Good Old Days.
My grandpa told me this last year while my family was struggling with job loss and the transition, stress, and burdens that naturally accompany it. He pulled me aside, cupped his hands around my face and said:
Your family is beautiful. Beautiful. Just always remember that these are The Good Old Days. These are The Good Old Days. Enjoy them…no matter how hard it is.
These are the good old days. The days you will tell stories about, someday.
These are the good old days. The days you can’t get back once passed.
These are the good old days. The spilled milk, the lost shoes, the tantrums at Target, all of it.
These are the good old days. The days that are their childhood.
These are the good old days. The days you will long for, someday.
So make The Good Old Days good ones.