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Category: time

Buds, Blooms and Petals

Buds, Blooms and Petals

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The climbing roses reached their peak yesterday. I snapped photos of them from every angle, and Claire took photos with her new phone camera, too.

I tried to drink in their beauty as I scrubbed the porch table and chairs, as I removed the green film from the outside of the flower pots.

I tried to enjoy them during dinner with the storm that would be their undoing already making itself felt in the heavy air and ominous clouds.

I think I was successful, in as much as we humans every fully are. To savor the moment, the perfection of the bud and bloom, knowing full well the pile of petals that will follow — that about sums it up, doesn’t it?

Begin the Day

Begin the Day

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May is unfolding slowly here, with cool nights and days that stay firmly in the 70s. I think that’s about to change soon, so I’m enjoying this cool morning and the bird song I hear as I write this post.

The trees have fully leafed out and the annuals I’ve planted are taking root. In the front yard, the breakout roses have snuck up on me again. (They’re not as full and healthy as the roses here … I wish … but given the shade in which they struggle, at least they’re still alive.) In fact, all is green and growing here, especially the weeds!

Inside, clocks are ticking, Copper is napping (after our walk at 7) and I’m grabbing a few quiet moments of what promises to be a busy one.

Thinking of all the possibilities …

It’s a good way to begin the day.

Decades of Home

Decades of Home

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Last night, I arrived home from my short trip to visit Drew out West. I couldn’t help but think that 30 years earlier to the day (impossible to fathom!), I stepped off another plane with baby Suzanne in my arms as we began our new life in Virginia. Tom had arrived early to meet the moving truck while Suzanne and I snuck in a quick visit to Kentucky, so he picked us up at the airport and drove us to our new home.

It was a beautiful spring evening when we arrived at Fort Lee Street, a time of the day I know now (from hanging out with photographers) is called “the golden hour.” And I still remember that light, how soft it was, how full of promise.

Though the trees were shorter then, the neighborhood looked established, lived in. Kids had a game of touch football going in the yard across the street. There were two little girls next door and another one from down the street. I looked at the throng, thought of the playmates and babysitting potential, and smiled.

The next morning, Tom woke up and went in for his first day of work (which means he’s celebrating a work anniversary today, though he doesn’t make a big deal of it).

All this is to say that our roots in this clay soil go deep. They weren’t supposed to … but they did —and still do.

Sorting Day

Sorting Day

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Yesterday was cool and rainy, the perfect day to sort through drawers and throw away receipts. It began with a search for my national parks pass (not yet found), but continued long beyond that.

I amassed a pile of credit card receipts and tossed all but 2019’s. Along the way, I found a plethora of pool passes, a few expired gift cards and some stray Girl Scout badges, never sewn onto sashes.

It was, on the whole, a calm and meditative practice, sorting through old eyeglass holders, foreign currency and stray sewing kits — the kind of odd conglomeration that can only accumulate over time.

At the bottom of one drawer was a checkbook from Chemical Bank in New York. Haven’t heard about them in a while. No wonder. They merged with Chase in 1996.

It was that kind of afternoon.

A Modest Proposal

A Modest Proposal

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For the last couple weeks I’ve been single-tracking it, consumed with a big project at work that is absorbing most of my waking hours. It’s still under wraps, this project, but suffice it to say that it involves some historical research, some text writing and some speech writing.

It makes me realize how fast the hours can pass when one is engaged in interesting work. But it also makes me realize how important it is to be balanced. It’s harder to think of post ideas this week, for instance. It’s harder to do my own writing.

Ideally, there would be double the amount of hours in every day. I would have the time to be as absorbed in my own work as I am in the paid stuff. It would still be exhausting, of course, but just think of how productive I could be!

Welcoming May

Welcoming May

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I’m one day late in welcoming May, my favorite month. It helps that both my sister and I were born in it (though none of my girls, they’re summer/fall babies). It helps that the weather is warming and the summer is coming. And there’s a certain horse race in Kentucky that can usually be counted on to add some pizazz to the month.

When I was a kid, May also meant the end of school. It was almost more excitement than my little heart could take, a birthday and school’s out in one terrific explosion of excitement.

I’m far removed from those rhythms now, but I like to remember them. They remind me of an earlier, slower, more rounded time, when life flowed at a pace resembling sanity.

Now here it is May again … and so soon. But it’s always good to welcome it.

DST vs EST

DST vs EST

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There are movements afoot to banish Standard Time, to make Daylight Savings Time the law of the land all year long. Given how little Standard Time we have now (just a little over four months of it), we may as well.

Since I often deal with jet lag these days, to say nothing of early awakenings, it doesn’t make much difference to me either way. I love the long light of summer, but that’s because there really is more daylight to go around that time of year. In the spare season, a time change is the horological equivalent of a comb-over. There aren’t many hours, period. Pretending there are is just sad.

So let’s just pick one time and stick with it. Give up springing ahead and falling back. And given the eight/four discrepancy, it looks like Daylight Savings Time should get the nod.

Stop Time

Stop Time

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Though it’s tempting to write about the weather today, the polar vortex with its subzero windchills, I will avoid that temptation and write about … the end of January.

January, the endless month. Season of long nights, dark mornings and tedious commutes (well, that’s all year, but in winter they’re cold, too).

In January, life slows to a crawl. Days last weeks, and weeks last fortnights. Snow falls and melts. Ice takes its place. The woods trails are too snowy or soaked to amble, so I stay on the streets, follow the safe path.

But today proves that the endless month does in fact have a conclusion. And freed as we almost are of it, I suddenly see its silver lining. It brings hope to those of us who feel life is flying by all too quickly.

Ordinary Time

Ordinary Time

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In the liturgical calendar, Ordinary Time is when it isn’t Christmas and isn’t Easter. The priest wears simple green vestments. There are no wreaths and no ashes.

It’s also a time of miracles: of water turned to wine; of the blind who see and the lame who walk. Anything but ordinary.

Here at the house, ordinary time began Saturday, when I removed the Christmas wreath and hung up the little basket that serves as a door ornament at less festive times of year.

Ordinary time. Nothing special. But everything wondrous.

Morning Workout

Morning Workout

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An elliptical in the basement creates a delicious quandary. When I have 20 extra minutes in the morning, do I read, write …. or work out?

Some days the answer is driven purely by my need for tea. If it’s severe, I settle in on the couch with my laptop and this blank screen in front of me. Tea and blog-writing go together beautifully.

But on days when the muscles feel limber enough to jump on the machine right away, well, then that is what I do. The blog-writing and tea drinking just have to wait.

Such was the situation this morning, which means I’m cranking out a post 10 minutes before a meeting—and there’s no tea in sight.

Such are the perils of affluence.