TIME MARCHES ON

My little dog was acting agitated with something in her paw so I took her to the veterinarian for a check-up.   Kissy has a very gentle nature and never meets a stranger.   She greets everyone with a wagging tail in eager anticipation of their salutation and then she rolls over on her back for a tummy rub.  A visit to the vet’s office triggers all her senses because she is the guest of honor enjoying the attention of people and animals.   It’s just too much stimulation for the old girl of sixty- four (that’s how old she is according to the chart in the waiting room) so to relieve the pressing excitement – she makes puddles!

I apologize as the receptionist calls for clean –up assistance.  A smiling young man comes to the lobby and begins to mop up the mess.  He looks familiar and when the receptionist says his name I joyfully recall he had been a student in my first grade class.  We talk for a minute and I ask him about high school.  He tells me that he’s a junior in college and working part-time for his dad at the vet’s office.

Wow!  I knew this young man when he was a little boy and I thought it was an exaggeration to ask him about high school because surely it was only a few years ago when we last saw each other.   However, I have noticed that most adults measure time by other people’s children.  For example, we haven’t seen friends for a while and then bump into them again at a social event or at the mall.  We exclaim the obvious by remarking how the children have grown and then we ask for a confirmation of the number of years since our last visit.  The truth is painfully apparent when realizing the same passing decade that has done an awesome job on the children also shows a bit more wear on the adults that are becoming acquainted again.

I called my Mom when I turned fifty to let her know we were both old ladies now.  She told me not to tell anyone my age because she couldn’t believe I was that old and she certainly could not be old enough to have a middle-age daughter.  My father-in-law just sighed when hearing I hit the mid-century mark and wished he could be my age again.  Geez, my Mom thinks I’m old and my father-in-law thinks I’m young.  I guess that's why it is known as middle-age.

I have my favorite ways of measuring time such as looking at an analog clock instead of a digital clock. In comparison, the digital clock provides little reference to the past and only hints at the future whereas, the analog clock is a visual representation of twenty four hour possibilities.  I also prefer churches that have a cemetery on the property because seeing rows of headstones when exiting the building is a subtle confirmation there is a life in Heaven after our time on earth.

This year our son and BDIL (beautiful daughter-in-law) celebrated their first year anniversary and that was a happy measurement of time although, my sweet Aunt Wanda died and that has been a very sad measurement of time.  And so it is that time marches on, and in the meantime I pray “So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom”.

There is a popular saying on the plaques in the department stores “life is not measured by the amount of breaths you take but by the moments that take your breath away” or something like that.  It looks like Kissy and I just have to realize that old age is really a matter of perspective and – an occasional puddle of excitement!