“I avoid looking at the clock, fearing the slow passing of time that will only seem slower if I watch its progress.” Michelle Zink
Except for today, of course. I know you think this is going to be my annual “I want my hour back” rant but not so much this year. I have to say there were a few very profound happenings this week that seemed to wake (yeah I know) my ass up.
First and foremost my dear friend Paul sent a wonderful email (after attending a school presentation by his daughter Greta) entitled The Secret of Time:
Today the 4th grade classes at Race Brook School presented their research and enactments of famous people in history. Our Greta was Betsy Ross, and aside from the great job she did on her research and memorizing her speech, she personified the most famous flag maker from Philadelphia perfectly. She even answered questions about Betsy in first person, and was very proud by how impressed everyone was with the flag that she had sewn on her very own “real” sewing machine that she got for Christmas.
Most of all she tested Dad’s ability to keep smiling and not succumb to the urge to burst into tears. There’s a very fine line between being happy to be alive, and becoming overwhelmed by the realization of riches that have been bestowed upon us, and just how precious each day is.
Now the secret of life is enjoying the passage of time. James Taylor
Somehow Paul always has something happening with his family in March. It’s a time I walk softly and carefully and sensitively lest I fall on my knees from missing my Father. He’s gone nine years already. Already? See what I mean about the passage of time. Anyway, each March my friend Paul elaborates on something that he is doing to cement his legacy to his family. More so, I see him creating “father’s daughters” and I couldn’t be happier. For them and for him. It gives me strength to watch a Father bring everlasting memories to the children in his life. I remain in awe of him. And I appreciate his sharing me right through the end of March.
To add to the family theme I was honored to attend my dear friend Cookie’s grandchild’s baby shower. Baby Cook. So, of course, I did what I do in all matters Cookie, I hid behind the camera for fear of becoming a whimpering nut to capture the day and regret that he was not a physical part of it. It was beautiful, she is beautiful, they will carry on the family name in some way (the baby’s sex is a surprise!) with notions of Cookie in the back of their minds. This is the most validating indication of the passage of time, it’s natural and beautiful and fulfilling for legacies both past and present.
Later Muriel and I actually howled telling stories of when they were all kids and how her Father’s memory lives on and on and on. Ironically it was a story of a family tree. Truth, my friends, remains stranger (and a helluva lot funnier) than fiction.
So this morning I awoke missing an hour. I walked the girls, made my coffee and treated myself kindly. I didn’t piss and moan once about losing my hour. Nicely my sister (who has lived with the rant far longer than anyone) brought me a wonderful gift of lox for my Sunday bagel and it was a delicious treat. I’ll never get this particular hour back, but I must say after this very long, very cold, very snowy winter I am thrilled to be writing this with sun still shining and Spring on the way.
No, I won’t get this hour back but I will get an hour back. What a gift to look forward to:
Time does not pass, it continues” Marty Rubin
