Same Time Next Year

Same Time Next Year

Time is everyone's shared riddle. Let's riddle each other some questions related to time and memory.

Where were you when you found out the current president was elected? Did it leave you in a memorable place, or do you simply recall your reaction?

Where were you, or "when" were you when you recall your first presidential election as a child?

Don't remember?

What other things from the past, near or distant, do you recall or not?

Your first birthday in your memory banks? Were you four? Five years old? Do you remember seeing the pictures of those celebrations from when you were one or two?

Yesterday was my mom's birthday, July 7. She passed away over six years ago, but the date of her birth is still memorable. My step father spent about 28 years with her on those birthdays. From Indiana to Massachusetts to Cambodia to Indonesia and back to the United States again. Yesterday she would have been eighty years old.

Time flies.

Time soars.

Time drags.

Time bores.

"There is a time for every purpose under heaven." (Ecclesiastes, written by... King Solomon, son of David.)

That was some three thousand years ago.

My mom was born eighty short years ago (1940), gave birth to the last of her three, me, in 1970.

Here we are on the round decade once more, 2020. My five children are all born post 2000, all 21st century.

My five children.

My three sons. My Three Sons. A famous play about money profits and regrets, then a series by the same name became a television show that was mostly light family comedy. Then it was a rock band by some guys of my generation in Bloomington, Indiana, in the 1980s or so.

Rock bands of the past. Most were just garage noises and subliminal aspirations.

Some echoes of remnants remain, like the mention above.

So, here we are reminiscing on the past, the present, the future, all of it:

TIME.

Much more than a magazine, much more than a period of history, it is history, it is everything, but hard to grasp. Hard to hold on to.

But, at least we can mark the dates, bid the times and memorialize the years, like the lifespan of my mother, born Ruth Muriel, the last of five, all her older siblings born in the 1930s, now going on almost a century ago...

Same time next year, Momma, hope to recollect and commune again with you then.

Love,

# 1 Son

Eddie