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Weaving tapestries of experience

The road we live on typically takes a long time to evolve. Evolve, that is, into OUR road. Our road that is filled with our emotions, our memories, our experiences, our perspectives, our truths, our mysteries, our lives. When I walk up the street, these days, in this neighborhood I've owned a home in for 5 years now, I don't traverse across alleys or cross-roads to differing roads. I stick to my own. I somehow feel safer, more familiar on my own road, so I walk up, turn around, and walk back. It's a short walk, but it's my walk, on my road, and it's laying the tapestry of my own weaving. Although I'm not a fan of Roseville as a neighborhood, nor a fan of living so close to the highway, nor a fan of many of the non-conversant conservative neighbors, I'm still making this road my own. No escaping it. With a marriage, two kids, and the tons of metal my husband stores in our garage, we aren't moving very soon, so I'd better make the most of it and weave whatever life it is I'm living. Walking.