Well, here I am: right on schedule! About to enter my annual blog post. Which brings up the same rhetorical question: where does time go? And though the metaphor is used too often, there is still no better picture of time's passage than the example of the toilet paper roll that goes faster and faster as it gets to the end. That's not the way I want to picture my life just now, but there's no denying it. The time is fleeting.
This morning I called our fourth son to wish him and his wonderful wife a Happy 15th Anniversary. He said, "Ya' know, Mom, I'm thinking of reading in your book about the year you and Dad had to celebrate your 20th anniversary in a little league baseball field with a bunch of sweaty little boys. It never occurred to me that ya'll had to make a sacrifice for us all those years." He was right, but I assured him those so-called sacrifices are the reason we enjoy the relationship we have now with our adult children.
Today I dropped by our youngest son's office and put two pieces of his favorite chocolate chip cake on his desk. I made him a cup of coffee before I left.
Tonight I had a catch-up conversation with our eldest son. It was special because he'd just returned from a day trip to Texas and needed some quiet time himself, but he reassured me nothing refreshed him more than having a conversation with his mom!
Now I'm in a quiet house. Very. Very. Quiet.
Burt's away at a meeting out of town and will be home late. I look at portraits of our young sons and reflect on the noisy, explosive years when our house was never quiet it seemed. I often wondered how it would feel to be where I am now . Would I ever feel "caught up"? Would there ever be a time there wasn't something urgent demanding attention? Would I ever be able to get to bed at a decent hour? Would I ever, EVER have the house completely to myself?
That time has come, and with it, some surprises. I'm reading Jan Karon's latest book, To Be Where You Are.
It's about our season of life--the fleeting years, when the years start coming off the roll of life with blurring speed.
The book title says it all. I just want to be with the people I love. To drop by with a piece of cake and a cup of coffee. To pick up the phone and have a conversation. To remember a special occasion, to make every conversation end with the words, "I love you."--so many opportunities to capitalize on the moments.
Tonight was a good reminder that I don't want to waste moments. I'm thankful we didn't waste the chance to be with our sons while we had the opportunity. Now their lives are so busy and demanding we almost have to make appointments to have time together. But when we do get to visit, whether via phone, text, or in person, the moments are special, communication is good, connection is maintained.
So these fleeting years are not to be wasted.
To continue the overused metaphor--when we see the end of the roll, we become more conservative. Those little squares of paper become more important to us.
A quiet, orderly house was the reminder I needed.