I’m stuck. I’ve been running around my home, from room to room, cleaning, organizing, and yes, looking for chametz. I filled bags with stuff to give away and throw away, and I got rid of all of our expired medications. I’m slowly finishing off the bread and homemade delicacies left in my freezer and I’m plowing through the last bags of pasta and boxes of cereal in the pantry. I had been on a good schedule and was moving ahead at an efficient pace. But now I stopped. Short. I’m up to the point of cleaning out the closet. The upper closet in my room is the storage warehouse of my memories. Through the keepsakes set aside from various experiences and periods of my life that line my shelves, I’m able to see, hear, touch, and at times, even smell days gone by. All I have to do is open the door and the memories come gushing out like gusts of gale winds, transporting me back in time.