Time Marches On

Implacable, inexorable, ineffable, improbable
Immovable and unstoppable
Impatient, impertinent
Impossible
Itinerant, intolerant
Intangible and incorporeal
Ever forward
Ever onward
Everlasting and finite
It proceeds.*

Lunken Moon 0005a
Super moon, July 13 2015. It was a bit overcast

I’ve been particularly pensive the past couple of days, thinking about a lot of things, the assorted accumulations of stress and strain and illness. I don’t think there’s anything about which to be alarmed; it’s just where my head is right now. I analyze, I agonize; that’s how I’m wired. What I haven’t been doing is staying in my head while staying in my house. Saturday was the super moon, a day when the moon would be very close to the earth. I’d planned to go out with my camera and my tripod and practice with long exposures. When I looked up in the sky, though, I saw mostly clouds. Still, I had made plans, and more importantly, made plans with another person. If not for her, I would have stayed home, and I might have regretted it. I missed a mini family reunion that afternoon, though. I didn’t make a reminder that stuck with me. Kinda upset about that.

Monday evening, against my better judgement, I drove across town to spend the evening in a dive bar with a bunch of people, former students from my high school†. It was effectively another mini reunion, although with significantly fewer people, and fewer classes represented – almost all of the people at the bar were alumni from the year after mine. I knew them; even hung out with some of them in school. Others I’ve only really gotten to know since we found one another on Facebook. I’d planned to be there until maybe 8:30, 9:00 at the latest – I got home at about a quarter to 11:00…I was a little tired the next morning. Worth it.

Yesterday afternoon, I had an appointment with my nephrologist, first one in four months. I left work early to get there; first time I made it before my scheduled appointment. Stable, no changes to be concerned about. After my appointment, I came home and grabbed my laundry basket and detergent, and headed for the laundromat, where I did several loads of laundry…

Yeah, that didn’t happen. I came home, sat down and had something to eat, then stayed home, laundry marinating yet another day. Figured I’d do it tonight, when I was less tired. How do you suppose that went?

When I left work, I debated between doing laundry and not doing laundry. I picked up my prescriptions, which had been ready for a few days, now, and headed home – by way of a Mexican restaurant. There was a margarita.

2014-07-16 Ancient Tinsel_0004a low
You can’t see it, but it’s there, honest. Above the wire.

Of course that has nothing to do with the topic. Well, not directly, anyway. What really spurred this on, what inspired the poem, was when I was parking at home. I had the sunroof open because it was a gorgeous fall day in July; something caught my eye as I reached up to close it – the house next door has a very large fir tree in the front yard, taller than the telephone poles. When I looked up, there was a little glint, a glitter, a silvery hint of, well, tinsel. I’ve lived beside that house for three years, now, and I’ve had the same car all that time. I don’t know how many times I’d reached up through the open roof to pull the cover over it, looking up above my head, seeing the tree, watching for opportunistic birds (been lucky so far). Not once did I notice the tinsel.

I stood out there for a few minutes trying to see where the tinsel ended. I didn’t see any below the power/phone lines, although I spotted more near the crown. It’s been there for a while. Likely the people who put it in there are long gone.

Several thoughts went through my mind when I realized what I was seeing. The man who owned that house when I came back had passed away shortly before I moved in. I never got to meet him. I don’t know how long he lived there, but maybe long enough to decorate a small fir in his front yard for the kids to enjoy. Maybe that was his tinsel, or the tinsel of one of the children, stretching up as far as they could go, putting it on the highest branch. My own time of wonder had passed, which I find to be tragic. I’m working on that. The camera helps – the world looks different when you are searching for just the right shot.

Other than that, I had this thought: I have to remind myself not to dwell on the past. Remember it, learn from it, fondly recall it, absolutely, but don’t live there.

_________________________

*There was a time when I wrote almost exclusively poetry. It rarely rhymed, but rhythm mattered.

†High School isn’t really accurate – the school went from 4th grade (~9 years old) to 12th grade (~18 years old); I only got to go for four years, but I already covered that.

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