Tuesday, July 31, 2007

THe last day of the month

As I was putting on my shoes today getting ready for work, weather guy Rob Marciano tossed the screen to CNN's ex-pat John Roberts who remarked on the fact that this was the last day of July, and asked his co-anchor, "where did July go?", to which she replied, "where did June go?" Ah, the passage of time. I remember visiting my grandfather in a nursing home many years ago; he was a little slow getting around, so I found myself holding the elevator door open for him. A senior female resident boarded the elevator car, and I apologized for the wait, to which she scowled; "Time - it's the only thing I've got left." I imagine she is in a better place now. When I was a child, summer seemed to go on forever. A day of playing in the clay banks of the Humber River in what seemed at the time to be a huge valley bordered by lush forests on our farm in Nashville, would slowly flow into a nighttime of stories around a campfire. Going back there today, the farm seems so much smaller, partly because it has been populated with monster homes, but mostly because I don't take the time to explore and discover. Back then, summer seemed endless, and in fact, those first 10 or even 20 years seemed to be a lifetime in themselves. Back then though everything was interesting, my curiosity was boundless. I could play for hours, get lost in a lilac bush, my imagination transforming it into a secret lair. Now as an adult, I would pass that same lilac bush with nary a mention. Maybe that's where the expression "take time to smell the flowers" comes into play. As "productive adults", with budgets, fiscal periods and daytimers ruling our lives, the days, the months, the years seem to flip by at a breakneck pace, like a freight train picking up momentum. Even when we first moved to Ste. Anne's 26 years ago, there seemed to be more time to lay by the pool, go to the beach, antique hunt, and wait for deals at country auctions. Mind you, this was all before the internet, facebook and blogs. While flipping channels the other night (another great time waster), I watched part of a program about child stars, and what has become of them. I think the one that resonated with me the most was Tabatha (Erin Murphy) - the daughter of Bewitched, now all grown up with a real family of her own! Hard to believe, but then time marches on. When I stop and I look back over the past 48 years, and take advantage of one of the many perks of my job as I stop and talk to a bank VP in a bathrobe who has just awakened from a nap on one of our gazebo hammocks still a little blurry from his massage induced trance, I start to catalogue all the experiences, all the people who have come and in some cases gone, and I can better appreciate the 1,513,728,000 seconds that have passed and look forward to the day ahead.

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