Of Time and Place

This morning, as I write this blog, my hot cup of tea muses me with the swirling steam rising from the mug. The steam seems to dance with grace and agility as it floats upward and dissolves into the air. It is gone within seconds but as it disappears, it leaves me with the sweet and melancholy scent of honey and ginger.

We, as humans like to put time into second and minutes. To hours and days, and months and years. Yet, to a dog waiting for its owners to return there is no measured distance between leaving and arrival. The time could be 15 seconds or 3 hours, to the dog it is all the same. When you are gone, you are gone. When you arrive you arrive. There is nothing in between except the longing for your return.

I’ve always felt like time is nothing more than a giant stream. I can relate to this very clearly, because much of my life and many of my best times were spent canoeing down rivers and streams in Wisconsin or Georgia. I feel like when you are born, you drift along with others in your family, slowly moving around obstacles; rocks and twigs that separate you, but then bring you back together again. As time moves forward, others join into the stream with you. They float gently down the channel. Some are lovers and some are dear friends. Some are new family members; sisters, brothers, nieces and nephews.

There are times when the current picks up. Rocks bounce you around in disarray, yet you still keep drifting along. Eventually, you come to a gentle pool on the calm side of the rapids. You regroup, and make new friends. Eventually, those who started on this journey with you disappear. Some get stuck on a rock or branch dangling in the water. Others take another fork in the stream, never to be seen again. Traveling their own path, alone.

“Time, flowing like a river

time, beckoning me

who knows when we shall meet again

if ever

but time

keeps flowing like a river

to the sea…”

Alan Parsons Project, 1980

In talking with older folks about time, they tell me it goes faster as you age. Which is really a cruel irony. To be at an age where you appreciate time, beyond the hormone-induced lunacy and ignorance of youth, you give time respect, yet time doesn’t return the favor. The angle at which it flows becomes steeper and the ride becomes faster as time moves forward for each of us.

During the spring of 2012, my older sister Gail was fighting a losing battle with cancer. She knew the end of her time here on earth was nearing a conclusion, and to her, every second was precious. Every conversation with loved ones, every laugh, every tear, it all was so very special to her. One afternoon, I played some of her favorite music from the past. All through her life, The Beatles were a favorite. And, one of her last requests to me, was to make sure that “In my Life” would be played at her funeral.

"...Though I know I'll never lose affection

For people and things that went before

I know I'll often stop and think about them

In my life, I love you more"

The Beatles, December 3, 1965

I was only three years old when that song was playing on the radio. Sixty years have passed since the time my ears would have heard this song for the first time. But like that sweet fragrance from my tea this morning, the memory of the song and the world I knew when it first came into my mind, will always be special.

So, today is a marker for me. I made it to 63. I feel the effects of time. The wrinkles, the aches, the loss of loved-ones and the ever-drifting current of this never-stopping stream. I’ve made many mistakes; fallen as many a fool. And I’ve met so many, oh, so many wonderful people who have given me direction within this stream. Who have helped steer my boat, patched my holes and given me love.

Thank you.