Seems we've arrived at another Labor Day - another summer ultimately reclining into fall. I'll resist bemoaning the obvious (where did the time go?) because, well, I've been there done that. It's usually my own anxiety that leads me to belly-achin' over the swift and steady passage of days, anxiety over the sense that the calendar appears to speed up particularly so when you have a goal at hand, as yet to be reached. The ticking grows louder and more ominous. Like one of those bad horror movies. Will the heroine get where she needs to be before time runs out??? (Okay so I moaned a little after all.)
While I 'm busy waiting for my world to change, I often wish for a time capsule or a diner doorway into the past (yep, like in 11/22/63, thank you, Mr. King) so that I could somehow snatch a decade or two back for the express purpose of leeway. A little dream elbowroom. I just know it would serve to allay the feeling I
have of time being like a woolen sweater after a spin in the dryer. Shrunk down, tight and itchy and far too snug. Yet I know the fact is those doorways only exist in bestsellers. So I seek out stories like this one:
http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/48803479/#.UEH7BNZmQXc Real-life tales of ordinary folks who by some stroke of God-given fortune, have extended their lives well past the norm. By the way happy 116th birthday, Besse!
If I knew I could cruise beyond my hundredth year, things might not feel so urgent anymore. I might fret less, fiddle more (Not in the actual sense. I don't know a thing about playing an instrument.) I might begin to believe in the worn out, personally frustrating cliche about how all good things come to those who wait. I might actually state with a certain degree of certainty: Slow down! What's your rush?
Alas, I fear I will remain harried and hurried and terribly impatient. I will stalk the last of the sultry summer breezes until they fade into a crisp autumn spice. I will pretend my own time here is endless while secretly hoping there's enough left to fulfill my desires. And I'll think of Besse.
While I 'm busy waiting for my world to change, I often wish for a time capsule or a diner doorway into the past (yep, like in 11/22/63, thank you, Mr. King) so that I could somehow snatch a decade or two back for the express purpose of leeway. A little dream elbowroom. I just know it would serve to allay the feeling I
have of time being like a woolen sweater after a spin in the dryer. Shrunk down, tight and itchy and far too snug. Yet I know the fact is those doorways only exist in bestsellers. So I seek out stories like this one:
http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/48803479/#.UEH7BNZmQXc Real-life tales of ordinary folks who by some stroke of God-given fortune, have extended their lives well past the norm. By the way happy 116th birthday, Besse!
If I knew I could cruise beyond my hundredth year, things might not feel so urgent anymore. I might fret less, fiddle more (Not in the actual sense. I don't know a thing about playing an instrument.) I might begin to believe in the worn out, personally frustrating cliche about how all good things come to those who wait. I might actually state with a certain degree of certainty: Slow down! What's your rush?
Alas, I fear I will remain harried and hurried and terribly impatient. I will stalk the last of the sultry summer breezes until they fade into a crisp autumn spice. I will pretend my own time here is endless while secretly hoping there's enough left to fulfill my desires. And I'll think of Besse.
Love this. Simply love it!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Terrie, my dear!
ReplyDelete