It’s 5:00 somewhere
The clock showed 5:00. No, not time for a drink. In the 1970s, alcohol was too expensive for us to justify channeling money from family needs. I was anticipating relief from the doldrums of being home all day with two young children. Where was Mike?
The most taxing time of those days was 4:00. Only an hour to go. So close. When Mike was out of town for work, I would pack the girls into the car for a trip to the mall where they could burn off energy and we could share a bite to eat before returning home for bath and bed. The change of scenery eased me through the late afternoon hump.
Relativity of time
Mike’s work had him traveling extensively when we lived in Germany. We tolerated the extended absences with good neighbors and a few American friends in the same boat plus plenty of unique experiences. Two days before his return, however, the relativity of time manifest. Each minute slowed up to his arrival.
40 years in the desert
Mike and I with most of our friends have had our first dose of the COVID vaccine and are close to the second. Although I remind myself to heed my mother’s warning against “wishing life away”, I long for post-pandemic experiences. I identify with poor Moses beholding the promised land. So close.
And he didn’t make it.
And so I am as cautious as or more so than I have been this past year. I want nothing to jeopardize my second dose. Although we feel that our lives have been on hold during the pandemic, our bodies did not get the memo and continued to age. Another year older, new ailments. And the loss of some traveling companions. We are so close.
What time is it?