Fast or slow
OK folks, follow along.
The other day on the radio, a “life coach” was talking about time. She was saying that kids always feel that summer goes on forever, but people in their 70s (not sure why she chose that particular age group) feel that the summer flies by. Her reasoning for this was that kids have so much time ahead of them that it goes by slowly, but for older folks, who don’t have as much of it ahead of them (theoretically, until 120 in good health for all of those reading this) it just zips on by.
So, of course, this got me thinking about my thoughts on time. I still remember sitting in class, specifically in high school, thinking that the clock would never get to 5:10, which was when school was over. I distinctly remember thinking that perhaps the clock was broken, because class was going on forever. That, of course, was not the case.
Fast-forward to now. When I am with Strudel, the time goes by so fast and I cannot believe when I have to return her to her rightful owners. Though, traffic to Far Rockaway (or Far Faraway, as I like to call it) does go by pretty S L O W L Y, so I am not sure how much validity there is to the life coach’s theory. I guess it depends upon where you are and what you are doing.
This brings us to this past weekend. Husband #1 finished saying kaddish for his father. Eleven months have gone by — and they have gone by pretty quickly. It still feels like yesterday on some days. So now that kaddish is over — now what? You can’t walk around with a shirt that says, “I am still in mourning. Please hug me.” This whole grief thing is crazy. You never know what is going to set you off.
I turned the TV on the other day, and there was an old Mets game on, and I just lost it. I never thought that Keith Hernandez’s voice would make me cry, but it did. Husband #1 said it has happened to him when he hears a particular political correspondent because he always spoke to his dad after that correspondent’s show was over. In any case, we are working through it together, and soon he can go to simchas without me because I am three months behind him.
Enough about sad stuff.
Husband #1’s parents gave us a very unique piece of art when we moved into our house. It looks like a painting, but it is actually made up of Hebrew words; all of the words from the book of Genesis (or Bereshis, as my Oreos would call it). Every time we have company, at least one of our guests tries to find the beginning of the portion. Many have tried and none have succeeded, and since Husband #1 and I aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed, we could never help them.
This past Friday night, we had a lovely family over. I have been wanting to have them for some time. I felt kind of badly because they have younger children (well, younger than my adult children) and I had no one to play with them. To be fair, one was 15, which is almost an adult, and the other one was 10, which, well, let’s be honest, is still a kid. (Sorry, kid).
In any event, I told them that if either of them could find the first few words in the painting, they would get a prize. Now I did this thinking that it would keep them busy for a considerable portion of the evening. Little did I know. They found the beginning. Well, the 15-year-old found it. This picture has been hanging on our wall for almost 25 years, and we never knew where the beginning was until this past Friday night. Now, I had promised this young person a prize. I am kind of hoping that writing part of this column about her is the prize. (Yes, on occasion I think very highly of myself, and that this column is akin to, let’s say, a gift card of some sort.) And there you go.
Time goes by fast, time goes by slow, and now I know where the painting begins. Hope your week was just as memorable!
Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck is looking forward to Babka’s Winter Camp Session next week, especially because Strudel has given up one of her naps and now she is available for more activities…