GETTING A HANDLE ON TIME

Is it possible to actually "get a handle" on Time?

Ever since I've been able to tell time, to have to plan my time, to fit myself into somebody else's concept of how time is supposed to be used--so, clearly, most of my long life--I've never been able to figure out time, or get hold of it in any way. Time remains as elusive to me as it did when I was five years old and wasn't time-bound for much of anything. Mom called me to come in for meals. She said when it was time to put on pajamas, say my prayers, get into bed. (My memory is that Cultural Wisdom in the late '40s decreed children of school age should get 12 hours of sleep. Honest! Not a joke! Not an exaggeration.)

Until I went to school, I had little concept of "time passing." I certainly didn't have to keep track of what the clock said or how many more minutes till something else happened.

Then--School. That place I adored, where I'd have lived if they'd let me. From the moment I went in the door each day, I knew I was Home. Not the house my dad built for us. Not the apartment my mom and I lived in later on. No, School was my true Home--spiritual, intellectual. 

The only fly in the soothing ointment of School was the keeping of Time. Fortunately for me, I had no need to mark the hours; I was prompted by my teacher to put away my arithmetic book and take out social studies. When a bell rang out in the hall, something more important was going to happen--usually, leave the school building and go home for lunch. Sometimes it was a fire drill--and to this day my adrenaline roars into life at the sound of an alarm (any kind: alarm clock, smoke alarm, car alarm; plus sirens on any and all emergency vehicles). The only bell that didn't start my fight-or-flight system was the one at the end of the day when I could put away my books (and pencil and anything else I had taken out of my desk) and go home. That bell was a sad bell. I had to leave School, my true Home.

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As years passed, I learned more about Time. Such as:

--time spent in a classroom passes faster than time spent outside School. (I wanted to be there, remember.)

--time spent in a dentist's waiting room is even faster; it should have gone slower, I think, because then the torture of imagination would be more effective. But five minutes in the waiting room took no time at all, and then my name was called, and it was my turn.

--time during a school exam is never long enough, no matter how much time is allowed.

--time waiting for a baby to develop and finally be born is interminable.

--time waiting for that teenager to come home (wee small hours) causes ulcers.

(You can compile your own list . . . .)

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At present, I'm not bound by time as I was when I worked. Retirement didn't completely obliterate the need for calendars, lists, and clocks. But it did give me a healthier perspective about how Time works--and if I don't want to go completely round the bend or drop out of society (sometimes appealing, but not just now), I have come to terms with Time.

I use the tools at hand, the calendar, list, and clock.

The calendar records appointments of all kinds, but in my case, mostly medical.

The list details each day's expectations, obligations, and information. What doesn't get done on any particular day may migrate to the next day's list. Or, it may not.

The clock is there for me to keep track of appointments or to let me know when it's time to take my blood pressure, call somebody I need to speak with, or to determine if I can work in a ride on my exercise bike or do some yoga before supper is on the table.

One great benefit of keeping track of Time is finding I have leisure to pursue things I enjoy: writing, watercolor painting, occasional quilt-making, letter writing, knitting. I may have to juggle some of my commitments in order to have that leisure, but I'll do that because the end result is worth it.

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No doubt you've caught on--we're talking about Time because on Sunday you and I will have to adjust our clocks to conform to Daylight Savings Time. Or maybe you also have one of those atomic clocks (weird name) that uses GPS to change itself around 2 AM. My cell phone, my computer, and my car clock also do that for me. That leaves me two clocks to change--the one on the microwave, and a wind-up clock in the bathroom. Oh, and a couple of little old-fashioned battery-operated clocks I've had for ages--they're invaluable when the power goes out.

No rant this time--DST is just a fact of life, like weather, and tax time (also coming soon to a place near you). 

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Until next time--there's that word again--enjoy the Days Before Spring Arrives.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child