lost and found

It's been an interesting fall and winter. Tracy was gone and returned - and finally, we moved. Two really big changes for our family that have required flexibility and patience from all of us. But for the past several months, this pattern has been replaying over and over again for me in a series of smaller reunions and partings. This summer I attended my 15 year college reunion, and reconnected with several of my college friends that I hadn't realized I'd missed so much. In preparation for our 20 year high school reunion, one classmate put together a listserv and I signed up. My daily e-mail is now bombarded with snippets of conversation from people I haven't seen in half my life. And just before Christmas, I received a phone call from one of my grad school professors about a surprise reunion to honor my mentor and dissertation chair. "Will you please go through your pictures..." The request is usually the same for these events. Bring up old memories, dust off old friendships. And having recently moved, there are a large number of Army friends I'm desperate to hold on to.
This has also been a season of losses. Nathan's broken arm was a big loss for me. Loss of what? I'm not really sure, maybe it was just a clear and painful reminder of our mortality, like the "20" part of the high school reunion. Or the dear friends with the sick daughter, who lost their past lives as parents of healthy children. Losing a house, an address - an identity of sorts in our move. And a couple of weeks ago, Grandpa Ken passed away. Then there's my work - which has been limited to volunteer work for the last three years, and is a hazy memory at best.
And so now we have a new house. We have new neighbors, new schools, a new church (building at least). We're finding some new friends here, like Taven - the boy from TJ's class who showed him around his first day. Imagine walking home from school to see him walk in the door next to ours? And the neighbors across the street with the BYU license plate frame that Tracy noticed as we drove up? And I found something else new and totally unexpected - on a whim I decided to take up the Mandolin. It's been exactly perfect for me.
So what is this pattern - lost and found, gain and lose? Maybe my problem is I let go of people too quickly. I didn't keep up with high school and college friends in my rush to finish grad school and get on with my life (including having our three beautiful kids). Maybe this is a clear message to me to Reconnect. To hold on to the important people in my life (you'd think a deployment would make this more clear to me?) To hold on to a stalled carreer maybe? Even though it is a bit tempting to want to shed some excess with each frequent army move.
My kids seem to have the opposite problem. The can't seem to let go of anything. Old broken down rusty bikes, baby toys, old, soiled clothing. They have been horrifically obsessed with preventing Tracy and I from taking any of our unused possessions to the thrift store or for recycling. They have cried buckets of tears, seriously, over little wooden blocks, of reminders of a babyhood spent in Texas. Or the first bike, and memories of adventures riding cross country with friends through our fantastic Kentucky backyard. I frankly have not understood their reactions at all. "We have so much", tracy and I tell them, "We can't keep everything."
I've heard that we define ourselves by the things we hold onto and the things we let go of. Tracy and I are anxious to not be overloaded with lots of junk - but how do we help our children hold on to the memories and meaningful experiences of their childhood? How do we maintain friendships with the people we love in our attempts to raise a busy family?

Maybe this multiplicity of balance questions show that I'm in need of a good dose of yoga... or divine inspiriation. Maybe this post will actually have a yoga class? Wish me luck.