Whatever it is, I could swear some over-sized hand has grabbed hold of my life and given it one hell of a jerk. Making sense of it seems out of the question, making progress is only a dream, treading water is the goal.

First and foremost, a loved one is ill beyond healing. That news struck hard last week. Finding time for togetherness is the glue now binding a tight circle of family, friends and caregivers of which I'm privileged to belong. This gives everything a new perspective and shuffles priorities.

On a very different note, my grandson, whom I haven't seen for a year, called recently and I almost didn't recognize him. When I heard the deep gravelly voice saying, "Hello, Grandma," I was shocked, drawn up short, wondered who the heck I was talking to. How did we get to this point in what seems to me like an overnight? Even last month his voice didn't sound nearly so grown up.

Granted, this is all people stuff and people change all the time. Nothing's constant. I know that. But I look out the window of our Ninilchik cabin, look across the inlet to the mountains beyond and even the shape of Redoubt -- a silhouette I've seen since I was a baby -- isn't the same anymore. In fact, more mornings than not since it began erupting in March, remnants of the once familiar shape are hidden by steam and ash.

Then there's the bluff that's creeping oh-so-close to a section of highway we drive twice a day almost every day. A little erosion here, a strong rain there, a seismic tremor or two and that narrow strip of bluff will suddenly become beach, quite possibly taking the road beneath our tires with it.

The drop in fuel prices we recently enjoyed has pulled a u-turn.

A thawing driveway means the nuisance of a constantly dirty cabin floor.

The scales spin higher than when I stood on them a year ago.

My hair is grayer.

In my wallet, a small prayer beseeches God to give me the serenity that comes from accepting things I can't change. I can't stop a volcano. I can't keep my grandson a baby. I can't stop the illness taking my dear friend's life.

I can sweep the cabin floor. I can get more exercise. And I can follow the suggestion of a friend who is facing her own mountain of challenges right now.

"Carpe diem," she offered. Seize the day.

Another friend recalled a promise from her spiritual tradition that whatever struggles the day brings, there will be strength and wisdom in equal measure.

Stay in the moment. Wring everything out of it that's there to be wrung. Every smile and every tear. Every sound, smell and touch. Every breath.

There's a lifetime in each moment, where everything past and the unknown future sits perfectly balanced. The phrase "in the fullness of time" tells me I have yet to fathom how much can be held, how much can happen in the blink of an eye. An explosion of forces strong enough to reshape the earth. The sound of my grandson's maturing voice. The touch of a cherished hand now weakening in strength.

Here. Now.

Sometimes I forget. But it's all there, waiting to be rediscovered.

McKibben Jackinsky can be reached at mckibbenjackinsky.@homernews.com.