Playing for Time

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Word on the street growing up was that as you get older time accelerates, and it’s utterly true. Weekends now arrive every three days, and seasons are but a blip on the calendar. A short while ago I was whining about the cockamamie time change and now it’s settled into my DNA again. Life simply rolls on. Case in point, David and Darlene Dove, who are back for another round of babies, making our crusty old hearts glad.

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The other unmistakable sign of full-on spring here is Farmers Market, whose busy Opening Day 2024 was last Saturday. Through our open door the sounds of conversation and laughter made it almost as good as putting on my sandals and going down there, which I didn’t do, although I have intentions, so check me on it.

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As you might surmise, we’re back to balcony afternoons here, which are vital for health and wellbeing. I sit within a few inches of whichever parent is on the nest, they never move a feather in protest, and that feels sweet. So glad for the sunshine and the sounds of life. So glad for benevolent walking weather. So glad we stay continually educated by living until it’s done.

At this point, after 76 years of it, life in the U.S. has never felt more threatened, nor more tenuous to me, even through the debacle and angst that was Viet Nam. We’re on the precipice of losing everything democracy has afforded us, and that’s for real. And yet HOPE is still my first go-to. We can get through this. That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it. Check me on it.