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A Post at Midday

A Post at Midday

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While I would like to bookend last evening’s “A Post at Sundown” with “A Post at Sunrise,” alas it is far too late for that. Perhaps “A Post at Midday.” 

Which gets to one of my favorite topics, which is time: the numerous time zones in which we live — not just around the world but within individual lives. To the young, days and weeks pass oh so slowly. To those of us who have a few more years under our belts, they fly. 

And nowhere does this reveal itself more clearly than with the arrival of a new generation. To a grandparent, the changes a baby undergoes during those first precious weeks and months, from a completely helpless newborn with wise eyes that seem to carry within them the wisdom of the ages to a smiley six-week-old are doubly amazing. Miraculous in and of themselves — and more so for us, because the transformation occurs at warp speed. 

With change happening this quickly, no wonder A Post at Sunrise becomes … A Post at Midday.

 

A Post at Sundown

A Post at Sundown

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It’s past six on a Sunday evening, late enough that if I hadn’t written a blog post I would just skip it for the day. But not this Sunday — or any of the 51 others we’ve had this year.

That’s because about this time in 2019, I realized that if I wrote a post every day, I might hit the 3,000-mark at about the same time as this blog’s 10-year anniversary in February. I figured that if I could write five or six posts a week I could probably write seven. And so I did.

I didn’t quite make 3,000 posts by the 10-year mark, though I was close. But as it turns out, I’ve kept up the daily blog-writing routine for more than 365 days now. Come October 1,  I’ll start giving myself an occasional pass on a Saturday or Sunday.

It’s all rather silly, I know — a resolution I didn’t have to make for a blog I don’t have to write. But that’s the fun of it.

The Late Show

The Late Show

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Like many people these days, I’m not skimping on the indoor entertainment budget. I’ve splurged recently and signed up for two online streaming services. Add to that the DVD rentals to which I still subscribe, plus cable television, which has its own delights, chiefly the movie channels.

I’ve been watching one of those the last couple of evenings. Strangely enough, though I could choose from a wide variety of streaming programs, it’s the more limited menu of old black-and-white films that’s holding my attention most these days. 

This probably says something about the limits of choice, but what it’s doing most is reminding me fondly of those old-fashioned late shows. Back when television had a sign-off time and binge-watching wasn’t yet possible, I would stumble upon “The Blackboard Jungle” or “The Philadelphia Story” when I was babysitting or after returning from my 3-11 p.m. shift at Jerry’s Restaurant. 

I was the only one awake in the house. It was just me and the movie — be it comedy or drama or romance. It was then, I think, that I learned to love film. And watching these old movies now, sometimes once again the only one awake in the house, reminds me of those early discoveries. How good they were then; how good they are still.

(Photo of “The Philadelphia Story” courtesy IMBD)

Perfectly Balanced

Perfectly Balanced

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Approximately one hour from now the Northern Hemisphere will leave summer behind and enter fall. While there is plenty of reason to mourn this passage — and I will certainly miss summer— there is something about these days, one in the spring and the fall, these equinox days of perfect balance, that I always admire. 

It has something to do with moderation and tolerance, with being able to hold in one’s mind two opposite thoughts and feelings. Here we are with summer flowers and autumn chill. I like the variety of the day. It is a hinge, a bridge, a passageway.

So instead of concentrating on what we’re losing, I’m going to try and think about what we have today. In this moment we are perfectly balanced: a rarity in nature and in time.

The Bells

The Bells

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I found a new online Mass this morning, the first one to pop up when I did a search. One of the ways it  recommended itself was by the playing of church bells at the opening.

In earlier times, the sound of bells was far more a part of life. Bells marked times to rise and work and pray. They commemorated the passing of lives and eras.

Of course, now we are in unusual times, but even in pre-pandemic days I seldom heard church bells. In fact, my church was taken to task for their modest bell-ringing. As a result bells are rung shortly before services for a couple minutes at a time.

Thus are we deprived of one of humankind’s more sonorous sounds — and of the reminders they provide us.

(The bells of Notre Dame during an exhibition in 2013.)

Quickly

Quickly

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As I watch two of my daughters go through pregnancy and motherhood together, I try to explain what it feels like. “You were once that size,” I say, pointing at my grandson. “And now you’re having babies of your own.”

They smile and laugh. They get it. Sort of. 

But not really, not yet. They think it’s passing quickly. They don’t know what quickly is yet. But some day,  I imagine — I hope — they will. 

(Photo of moonrise in North Arlington, taken as I was leaving the girls after a virtual baby shower.)

Most of All

Most of All

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Yesterday, I read an entire book. The title isn’t important. Let’s just say it wasn’t War and Peace. But it’s worth mentioning because it’s been a while since I’ve read a book in a day, and it was satisfying in and of itself.

I must clarify that by “day” I mean 24 hours, which includes reclining in the hammock on a perfect late-summer afternoon as well as reading in the middle of the night, unable to sleep — with the latter a more common condition than the former, I’m sorry to say. But still, the words were digested, the book was read.

What this means, what I’ve known all along, is that reading is one of those things I’ll find a way to do no matter what. It’s one of the things I love to do most of all.

Me Time

Me Time

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People always want “me time,” said the calm voice emanating from the screen, but we actually have a lot more of it than we might think. The way to retrieve it, he said, is to live mindfully, to stop thinking two steps ahead of ourselves to what we will do after the thing we’re doing now. 

When I heard this during my guided meditation session today, little fireworks went off in my mind. Not because I’m always clamoring for “me time,” a phrase that frankly makes me cringe. But because I know, in my heart of hearts, how much time I spend spinning wheels and riling myself up over nothing. 

It’s largely to still those wheels and quiet that worried, one-step-ahead-of-myself feeling that I’ve sought the solace of sitting still and focusing on my breath. I am still so poor at it, though; I can barely make it 10 puny minutes before giving in to rumination. 

But the sudden awareness that freeing thought is also freeing time — understanding the power of that equation — well, that will make me try harder from now on. 

Rough Winds

Rough Winds

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Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May 
And summer’s lease hath far too short a date.

So go the third and fourth lines of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18, which begins with the lines “Shall I compare thee to a summer day?/Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”

They’ve been in my mind lately as the brisk winds continue to blow and the gray clouds continue to blot out the sun. It’s been one of the coolest springs on record, and is beginning to bother me — not that there’s a thing I can do about it except try to see the positive side.

And that brings me back to Shakespeare. Because the buds, though shaken, are staying buds longer than usual. They aren’t flowering and fading as quickly as they would if our temperatures were topping 80 each day.

A cool spring may try the patience of one who loves warm weather, but it will, for a few days at least, keep time at bay.

(If the bottom photo looks blurry, it’s because the wind was indeed shaking these fully bloomed knockout roses.) 

Sunday’s Rhyme

Sunday’s Rhyme

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Monday last was frantic-paced
Tuesday slowed, was still a race.
Wednesday came and went so fast
And Thursday zoomed by in a blast.
Friday to-dos meant more working.
Saturday had no time for shirking.
So now we have the Sabbath Day…
I hope to slow down, fi-nal-lay!
(With apologies to the nursery rhyme.)