In Search of Lost Time
Einstein was right, time is relative
“Mom, it’s been half a century. No one remembers, no one cares,” I once told my mother. At the time, she was quite upset over a story in a local newspaper, a regular feature titled “50 years ago this week.” The article was about my grandfather, a man I never knew but had heard plenty about. In our small town, he was notorious for his drinking and was popular for buying rounds at the bar. I always heard he wasn’t as popular with my grandmother, as he was inclined to return and shoot up the house.
The piece recounted his arrest for horse theft and a subsequent mounted chase. To me, it was amusing history; to my mother, it was a public, humiliating reminder of a father-in-law who had brought her embarrassment. She was livid at the newspaper.
“They say time accelerates as you age. They’re right”
Now, at 72, I see things differently. My sense of time has shifted. Decades seem shorter now. How did my daughter turn 22 so quickly? Has it really been nearly 30 years since I lived in California?
A local TV station airs a feature from 1988, and it feels like just yesterday. The program shows how my ex and I ran horse-drawn sleigh rides at our stable. I can still sense the reins in my hands, the chill in the air, and the sound of my ex-wife’s voice. Has it truly been 35 years?
I returned to my hometown for a routine doctor visit. It’s the hospital where most of my nine siblings were born, and where my parents did most of their dying. Just below is The Pine Barn Inn, a cozy restaurant that hosts local meetings. It is built around a real barn. When my father was alive, we would sometimes eat there. He liked to recount how he stabled his horse there when he rode to school.
Suddenly, the near century that’s passed since my father left his horse there seems comprehensible. They say time accelerates as you age. They’re right. My mother’s distress makes more sense to me now. I find myself wanting to tell my daughter, “Make your time count.” To my middle-aged nieces and nephews, I say, “Don’t assume you have another half of your life ahead. Maybe you have a third. Make it count.”
My mom passed away at 79, having lived a long and fulfilling life. Wait… At 72, I’m thinking: my oldest brother is now 83, still riding, shoeing horses, and making hay. 79 was young! This acceleration of time affects all of us. Carpe diem. Time is a precious gift, and more limited than you think.
