July 29, 2019

The Passage of Time

July is coming to an end, too rapidly. To me, this always signals the end of summer even though, on the calendar there is still all of August and the first half of September. It seems that once we turn the page on July, summer just gallops away at breakneck speed. This summer started with two landmark events in my life. My youngest grandson graduated from high school and his younger sister was promoted from eighth grade and will begin high school in September. Since I was present at both of their births, this strikes me as shocking. Where did the years go? Part of it they lived a thousand miles away from me. Now, although they are close in miles, sometimes they seem further away. Each involved in their own lives, which touch mine, not often enough. Which brings me to what I wanted to discuss today…the passage of time.

When I was young, summer seemed eternal. Especially when I was whisked away to Florida for eight weeks and my friends were all in New Jersey. I still have a stack of letters that were sent between friends, filling each other in on what was happening during our separation. Long, tedious months at my grandparents’ home.

My grandmother was very ill, although, I was not told at the time. My grandfather and I had a strong bond and we hung out quite a bit, doing his things, which included gardening his acre of backyard which contained fruit trees and vegetables and some local insects…I found these fascinating, from a distance. He was born in 1883, so he must have been in his eighties at that time, (it was the early 1960’s,) but he didn’t seem old to me. He was agile, and cleaned his gutters and trimmed his trees and gardened for hours every day. He shopped and cooked meals for us, although my mother and I pitched in while we were there. He drove his 1946 Buick to places which were too far to walk to easily…or if he was bringing back too much to carry by hand.

In later years, he stopped driving and was given his own personal shopping cart from the local super market. It had a burst of yellow ribbons tied to the handle to identify it as his. After my grandmother passed, he took up shuffleboard, which was a mile walk from his house. He usually refused offers of a ride back and forth, saying he considered the walk part of his routine. In those years, he flew to New Jersey and spent the summers visiting his children and grandchildren. He usually stayed with us for most of the time, but he particularly enjoyed spending time at my cousin’s farm, especially after they opened a farm stand and he could help to prepare the vegetables for sale. He enjoyed talking to the customers and spending time with my cousin and her family. When he was with us, my mother would plan lots of visits with his siblings and cousins, who were still in the area and spry enough to travel. We had cousins by the dozens. My mother and grandfather would cook for days to prepare for one of these visits and they both loved doing it.

For some reason this took me to a memory of when I was a very little girl. My grandparents lived across the street and owned a delicatessen. I loved to hang out with my grandfather and I would “help” him in the store or run errands with him. He took me to the beach one day, just him and me. We had a great time. But what I remember most vividly is visiting his mother in Nutley, NJ. She had baked a cake to serve company, she was in her late 90’s at the time. I don’t remember what it tasted like, but I do remember that the icing was dark green. I haven’t seen icing that color before or since. We came home with a kitten for me…my mother was slightly less pleased than I was. I have no recollection of the kitten except for one adventure when it got into the washing machine. My great grandmother died at 97, following a fall from a stack of chairs she was climbing to reach some sweets that her daughter had placed at a distance from her because she had become diabetic.

When my grandfather lived to be 101, I thought that longevity must run in our family, but in more recent history that has not been the case. Which brings me back to my original line of thought, the passage of time.

I waste so much time. It is a luxury that I didn’t always have. I lived so much of my life on a rigid schedule. I would get up at 5:30a.m. to have my shower and coffee before I got the boys up for school. After school there were meetings and sports for the boys. I have to mention that about 30 years ago, I met one of my forever friends, Susan, and we created an “every Saturday” commitment that we honor to this day. We have done all sorts of things, from painting parts of each other’s homes to hiking to playing racquet ball…today it’s mostly shopping, lunch and an occasional movie. Even after I retired, I filled so many hours with volunteering and classes and part-time jobs, that I never really had a lot of leisure time, by choice, apparently. Since my second husband passed, two years ago. I find that I have quite a bit of “unscheduled” time and I like it. I like being able to get up when I want and dawdle over my coffee. Read or write or simply look out the patio door at my back yard and either daydream or plan some activity or remodel. Don’t get me wrong, I still have my volunteering and activities with my wonderful friends, but there is “me” time. Maybe I am not wasting it so much as relishing it…