At just three years old, my first granddaughter spoke with a charming mix of confidence and creativity. She used words like Lasterday, Nexterday, and Inaminnit to describe time in her own way-shaped partly by her father's procrastinations."Dad, what doin' Lasterday?""Cake, Inaminnit.""Home, Nexterdaykay?"These whimsical words became more than toddler talk. They captured fleeting, treasured moments-echoes of times and places that no longer exist except in memory.Lasterday is a work of love-a playful, heartfelt attempt to share with my grandchildren the freedom, joy, and wonder of a cherished past. Like the cold, clear mountain streams of my youth, those moments have flowed beyond my reach, living now only in memory.

In writing this, I found a way to unlock something deeply personal, and I offer it to you. May it help you revisit your own sweet yesterdays-and inspire you to share them with those you love.

Lasterday, I rode my bike beneath bright stars in the hills of my childhood. I pray my children and grandchildren, with faith and guidance, will ride their paths toward lives full of joy-and create their own beautiful Nexterdays to pass on, maybe Inaminnit.