We are all collections , the sum of our parts, our histories, bundled and packaged into one body.

Inside my 56, I am the 5 year old blowing  dandelion seeds in the wind, learning to a ride bike on gravel roads, making mud pies on the farm.

I am 10, scouring the bookmobile library for a forbidden fruit, growing my hair out, speeding through the lanes of my neighbourhood on my 10-speed.

I am 17, feeling young and scared in my first university class, working at the camera counter in my uncles store, newly acquired independence- no more curfew.

21 brings a life partner, new teaching job, our first apartment miles from familiar territory.

35 is on stage performing Shakespeare, driving kids to hockey, saving for retirement.

43 is sending son to college, hiking  the mountains of Grande Cache, and starting my Masters.

55 is traveling to Greece, photography and worries about the future.

I am 5, 10, 17, 21, 35, 43, 55. I am a collection of my experiences, my evolving views of the world, my talents and weaknesses. Inside me there is the child who still likes to ride a bike, the teen who loves to learn, the 55 year old who loves starts a hobby and small business.

We are all a collection; a tapestry of dreams and worries, of poorly chosen words, false compliments, speeding tickets, grand gestures. A collection of picnics at the beach, parent-teacher interviews and playing twister with my brothers. A collection of 6 mile marathons, stretch marks, chocolate scratch cakes, playing dress up, skipping rope games and baking bread.

I am a collection.