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Category: time

High Latitude

High Latitude

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Woke up with the day this morning, knowing from the start it was the longest, vowing to spend as much of it as I can outside. I thought, as I was walking, of the gift of light, the extra hours of it, six hours more than the winter solstice by my rough count. Six hours more sunning and walking; six hours more to see and do and be.

“Solstice” derives from two Latin words “sol” and “sistere,” which roughly translate to “sun standing still.” And that is my wish today. That the sun stand still. That time stand still until I catch up with it.

I just read a passage from my favorite Annie Dillard, and my heart caught again on these lines: “I am here now … up here are this high latitude, out here at the farthest exploratory tip of this my present bewildering age.”

Life bewilders, age bewilders, time bewilders. But some days give us time to absorb that which bewilders. May today be one of those days.

(Sunrise on Chincoteague, April 21, 2016)

Leaving DLT

Leaving DLT

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Here’s a modest proposal: Given that Daylight Savings Time now lasts from early March till early November and we have only three full  months in Standard Time, perhaps we should reconsider our nomenclature.

Maybe we should call the time we just entered — which begins with cold, bright evenings and takes us through spring, summer and fall — Standard Time.

And those other outlier weeks — we’ll call them either Winter Time or Daylight Losing Time (DLT).

I know. It’s a negative message.

But isn’t it closer to the truth?

Carpe Season

Carpe Season

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These are days of high contrast: 70 degrees and cherry blossoms one day, 30 degrees and sleet the next. Are those petals or snowflakes?

Weather like this reminds me of what I should always remember but almost never do: Enjoy what you have when you have it. So much is out of our control.

I thought of this yesterday when I took a quick stroll around the block at lunchtime. It was warm with a balmy breeze. The jacket-less turned their faces to the sun. The al fresco diners ate salads on round, wrought-iron tables. A lone Tai Chi practitioner balanced two red balls on the top of his arms, slow-mo juggling.

We all knew the forecast. No lamentations for what was to come. Just joy at what we had right that moment.

Tick Tock

Tick Tock

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The house is as quiet as my house can be, which means that in addition to the blood rushing through my ears I’m also listening to the twitter of parakeets and the steady tick-tock of the cuckoo clock.

The “cuckoo” part of the clock has been long since been disabled, but the ticking mechanism remains. The metronomic beat of this timepiece is the soundtrack of my life.

On the rare day when the clock’s not wound, the stillness is deafening. I can hardly hear myself think.

Which raises the question: What has all this ticking done to my brain? Has it weathered it with pockmarks? Or has it smoothed and polished it, eroding those pesky irregularities that often stand in for real thought?

Into the Future

Into the Future

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Yes, we counted down the seconds last night. A room full of people with noisemakers and champagne and funny hats.  Out with the old and in with the new.

But for me, 2017 started with this winter morning, with the run I just took along familiar routes, waves to neighbors, music and talking in my ear.

And it started even earlier, with a cup of tea and my journal, reading last year’s entries, pondering resolutions, writing my way into the future.

Fast Away

Fast Away

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It’s only a matter of hours now for 2016, this crazy leap year with so many changes (new job and wedding; show-stopping election) that we needed an extra day to pack ’em in.

One thing about years now: They pass so quickly that it almost seems pointless to make a big fuss over their arrivals and departures.

But still, a year change is a moment, and so I will mark it now in this quiet living room with the tree still in full holiday regalia, books and journal by my side, three loads of laundry, a tidied freezer and vacuumed floor under my belt. The price I pay for writing time, a price I may have to stop paying if I’m ever to write more than these blog posts. And if there’s a hint of a resolution in there, so much the better!

Fast away the old year passes … whether marked by sundial or computer clock … it passes …

Mid-Pause

Mid-Pause

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Here I’m enjoying the Great Pause, which in part has meant a blog pause, though not for long because, well, writing here is what I do.

I love the disorientation this time of year brings. Is it Monday? Tuesday? Should I start watching a movie at 10 p.m.? Why not?

The trick is to balance the vegging with small, discrete tasks. Tidy up the area under the bathroom sink. Look through one of the boxes from Lexington, Mom’s things, an activity that must be reserved for moments of lightness and strength. (Come to think of it, that may have to wait.)

Most of all, time for reading, writing, talking and walking. Four of my favorite things.

All to Pieces

All to Pieces

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On Sunday, when I was doing a spot of shopping (a spot seems to be all I can do these days), I happened upon a manikin in a state of dishabille. Worse than dishabille, actually: The poor thing was in pieces. Head over here. Legs over there. An errant arm on top of a pile of sweaters I was pawing through in search of a size M.

It was not unlike what I was feeling. 
Because as we grow (ahem) older, isn’t bewilderment a prime emotion? We lose people we love and the world shifts on its axis. We change jobs or switch commutes.  One card shop closes and another takes its place. What used to be appears in ever-more-sepia tones.
From small to large the changes mount, until one day we look up and the world just isn’t the same anymore.
This is not to say it’s always worse. Sometimes it’s better. It’s just different, that’s all. 
The Ploy

The Ploy

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It’s a trick, this time change thing. In the fall we’re lured with the extra hour. Oh, it will be good to sleep in, we tell ourselves. And who can’t use a little more sleep?

In reality, it’s just a ploy to take our eyes off the ball — the ball being how little light there is to go around this time of year.  For everyone who rejoices at the lighter mornings, there are those who decry the darker afternoons.

Yesterday, as a golden day gave way to a lowered-sun afternoon, the reality of it all hit me. It would be darkness at 5. And the sun that slanted so fetchingly through the trees would dip out of sight long before I was ready for it to.

It’s just the way the world turns, I know. But that doesn’t mean I can’t complain about it!

Afternoon Appeal

Afternoon Appeal

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I’m a morning writer, so it feels a strange to be posting this in the afternoon. Afternoon is a time to wind down instead of up. It’s a time to exercise and clean out a closet, to start dinner or have a cup of tea.

Truth to tell, afternoon is not my favorite time of the day. Is it anyone’s? Maybe the late riser prefers afternoon, but only because it is his or her morning — undoubtedly an “a.m.-centric” attitude!

The thing about an afternoon post, though, is that it says, by its very existence, that intellectual effort may be expended even when one thinks it’s too late to bother. And, by extrapolation, that it’s never too late to start/try/begin again.