Saturday, August 31, 2019

September



Have you ever heard a woman complain that the days of pregnancy passed too swiftly? I know I haven’t. For me, the days of pregnancy (three times) were interminable. But then the baby comes and time speeds up. And one amazing day, the baby gets married (this happened very recently in my family). Alas, the old clichĂ©: where did the time go?
            It’s a conundrum I’ve been grappling with lately: How to slow time down? Apparently, there are a few methods, like meditating (a good one) or living a boring life (I can’t imagine how the latter would be possible, but I do know people who say they are bored and that time seems to drag). I wouldn’t recommend this approach, however, and can’t even figure out how it might work.
Just maybe, living in an extremely cold climate would help make time stand still; I know, for instance, that even though the days are shorter, they can seem agonizingly endless during a bout of bad winter weather. Still, this incentive would not be enough to get me to move to, ahem, Greenland.
 At this time of year on the East coast in particular, I’m always reminded of how fast time travels. At the end of summer, I can never believe how swiftly the warm season has passed. On Labor Day, it seems as if only yesterday it was Summer Solstice (unless, of course, one has kids who are antsy to get back to school and summer has gone on for far too long). I remember my mother listening to Willie Nelson’s soulful rendition of  “September.” The thought of her tears every time she heard that song brings me to tears even decades later.
As a kid, I spent endless afternoons on particular time-expanding pursuits, and I wonder if perhaps I should try some of them now. A favorite was to recline on the living room rug and gaze up at the ceiling, imagining that it was the floor. I was fascinated by the fact that the ceiling/floor could be so uncluttered, making the room seem exceptionally spacious. On the empty ceiling there were no coffee tables, chairs, or couches, no magazines, books, or clutter of any kind. I felt an infinite expansiveness just staring up at the empty, flat space. So maybe…fast forward to adulthood…I would feel time slowing a bit if I could just get rid of some clutter and lay flat on my back.
Another activity was naming my marbles. Yes, I know this sounds odd…but I whiled away many an hour in an altered state while taping monikers on my voluminous collection (I may have named some rocks, too, though I can’t swear to this). Clearly, the names didn’t last—they fell off after a few rolls. But that didn’t seem to matter. This mind-numbing activity made a day last like an eternity, and I thoroughly enjoyed it even though the names—Catsy, Sparkle, Greenie—were pretty lame.
I suppose if I splayed out on the floor all day now or sat with a pile of marbles, my grown kids and husband might call a family meeting. So, I’ll stick to meditation—which seems to help, as does being “present” and avoiding winding thought-paths into past or future. 
Still, I sense that time is speeding up and a “slow pill” sounds enticing. If only September—truly, my favorite month-- could go on…and on… forever. 

Friday, May 31, 2019

Summer Reading



I’m half way through this fantastic novel—perfect for summer beach reading! So many interesting characters, and such intrigue! Wait…what? This is not fiction??? Omg! 

I don’t care if you’re left handed or right handed, using your left brain or your right brain, or if you’re left or right winged politically. If you’re Republican no doubt you’ll conclude that this unbelievable tale is indeed that—unbelievable. And if you’re a Democrat no doubt you’ll think, ahah, now it all makes sense. But whatever your political label (and even if you don’t have one) The Mueller Report  is worth your attention. I see reading this tome as my civic duty—and surely this should be mandatory reading for everyone in the government—yes, all 400-plus pages. We require our school children to read over the summer—so why not our Congressional representatives and Senators? (Actually they'd better get reading right now.)

I know you have better things to do (and read). You could play hopscotch, do the laundry, or just close your eyes, relax, and wait for the movie. But in the family in which I grew up, news was taken seriously, and no one ever heard of it being “fake.” In fact, I’m quite certain that my fascination with the Mueller report links genetically back to my father’s obsession with the Congressional Record. I can still see him—in his retirement years—sitting in his favorite chair next to his lamp with a copy of the latest Congressional Record in his hands. I don’t know how he got these things (there was no internet back then)…but got them he did. After his passing, there were boxes and boxes of the Congressional Record left behind in a spare room upstairs.

We also subscribed to two newspapers—one for the morning, and one for the evening, from which my parents often read excerpts aloud (sadly, they mostly shared gruesome stories about kids skating on unfrozen ponds or driving drunk…the paper was used not only as a source for current events, but as a learning tool). Back then, newsmen (and the few newswomen) were respected and revered.

My father was a Republican and a Nixon man, but I am quite certain he would be “fit to be tied” over what’s going on now. (The word “sex” was never uttered in our home—let alone the word “porn” or “porn star.”) Even so, I know for sure if Dad were here today he’d be reading The Mueller Report—from start to finish. 

This popular argument that Americans can’t and won’t read, I believe, is not only disheartening but untrue. Exhibit One: Fifty Shades of Grey. It wasn’t so long ago that Americans were virtually unable to put that book down. 

So, reach for the latest Elin Hildebrand summer beach read if you must. But first, give Mr. Mueller a try (he is gray, after all, and the story he tells is shady). It’s only ten bucks (or free, if you download it somewhere and there’s even a large-print edition) and will keep you engaged (angered, saddened, amused, disgusted, horrified, frustrated, etc.) for hours. Fix yourself an iced tea (or perhaps a stiff scotch), and open to page one.  Ah…the joys of summer reading!