It's Valentine's Day. Again. (Think Bill Murray in Groundhog's Day.)

Everybody knows that time goes by way too fast. The shockingly depressing thing is that, even if you enjoy every possible minute of it, it still goes by too quickly. Even if you're able to cut back on your work hours and enjoy every instant of whatever it is that truly inspires you, it all just ends too soon.

And memories of all those good times eventually all blend together.

So, unless you want to create a poster board wall calendar and record every day's events (which I did for ten years), or write in your journal or blog (also important but very time consuming), you'd better force yourself to photograph every day of your life. Take stills and video. Organize them by year, and then by some other descriptive category. Make back-ups on new media as it's developed. Most importantly, remember that the mundane is just as important as the births, weddings, reunions, and parties.

One of my favorite videos is now a twenty year old clip of a typical day in the life of my daughter. I simply followed her inside of and around our house while she explored and played with anything and everything. Know that a fifteen minute interview and visual history of a two year old will encompass more than you can imagine after she's grown, you've moved away from your first house, or when you discover that things have irrevocably changed.

I feel a poem coming on.

"Brefkissed"

Our daughter's name for our morning meal,

And for which her parents never corrected her.

Classmates not amused by her creativity did.

It doesn't last long enough.

The benign lisp came, then was gone.

Big brown eyes and very blonde hair, they're

No longer wearing out knees in their jeans.

Shin guards and thin leos proof of sports long outgrown.

Carpet and other stains evidence of advice ignored,

Left as proud trophies of growth and independence.

Our house a collection of stuffed dreams and toys, waiting.

Drawers and closets of memories.

Every coat, every outfit with a story, or two.

Take our bag of donations now, before I change my mind.

No longer a reason to save the old land phone number,

The caller who recalled its odd cadence now gone.

Others will speed dial or refer to a list.

I hear the wind, and the ticking of the clock.

Bird songs reassuring in their daily appearance.

All else changes.

Looking forward to another spring with my love,

With whom I'm about half way through our journey.

No longer is our time or path well scripted.

Our kids are nearly to the point where

Their own paths will be chosen and

Their own stories will be told.

"Talk me in" to my bed one last time,

Better yet, let me tuck you in next to me

So that we can create our next chapter.