Time … and Time Again
When I was a little girl, I remember that there were certain things that I just couldn’t resist, like climbing up on big rocks, stepping in a puddle to see how deep it was, trying to catch any and every toad I found hiding in the garden, squeezing myself into the kitchen cupboard to hide from my brothers … climbing a tree that had temptingly low branches …
It didn’t matter if I knew I was going to get into trouble … the urge was simply more than I could resist. I can’t count the times I was told to be careful and not get my clothes dirty that I would come home with a tear, or a stain, or skinned knees. It was a forgone conclusion that I’d be far too dirty to be seen in polite company! My poor mother simply thought that I was just another one of her boys … she’d missed having a girl completely!
When I turned into an adolescent, some of those urges faded along with being small enough to hide in the kitchen cupboard … I wasn’t quite as keen on catching toads anymore, and puddles were just - messy. But oooh those trees! I still couldn’t resist climbing those trees … or clambering up onto a large, beautiful rock promontory.
By the time I had my own children, big rocks that are good to climb and trees with delightfully low branches still had appeal. I couldn’t walk past one but that I was drawn to explore its mysteries, and my limits. I was sure that I would be the only grandma who climbed trees with the grandbabies!
But somewhere along the way, that wonderful urge became weaker and weaker … until it was so faint that it was hardly a memory. As my son and I wandered through down a wooded path yesterday, and he had to help me over a fallen tree, I wondered how I had gotten from where I was - to where I am: an adult who can’t keep her feet on the ground, to an old lady who needs help to just get myself past an obstacle that’s not much higher than my knees. I don’t remember the urges and desires fading … it simply seems that I awoke one morning, and realized that they were just - gone. There was a sense of loss … as I wondered how I could have missed their passing.
Little did I know how much had yet to pass me by unnoticed …
The seasons turned, and I watched my own children jump into puddles, climb trees, hide in impossibly small places, detour to every large climbing rock we’d happen by, and collect whatever hapless little toads their little hands were fast enough to nab. It seemed as if no time at all had passed, and I found myself smiling and shaking my head as my adolescents climbed trees and hung precariously from branches. A little time again, and I laughed as I watched my adult children play with their children, as lost in their games as were the babies. I remember feeling shocked one day as I looked out of the camp’s kitchen window to see my 25 year old son perched on top of a 5 foot stump - looking like a statue on a very tall base. And I remembered my own romps …
Several years have passed, and I watch that same son bend intently over a sedentary task, and I feel my heart clench as I notice how many gray hairs he has. When did that happen? When did my little son stop climbing trees? When did he begin to gray? Has he already passed into that time when trees have lost their appeal?
Now, I no longer wonder when I stopped climbing trees and catching frogs - I find myself wondering … when did my children get old enough to no longer want to climb trees, or catch frogs? When did their hair begin to turn gray?
Time leaves its stamp upon all who set foot on the road of life. Master Chronos faithfully updates his seals on each of us, sparing no one, claiming us as his own with an increasingly heavier hand. And we know it - we expect it for ourselves. But our hearts tell us that he should relinquish his grasp on our children - the tiny babes we nursed and dandled on our knees. To mar their delicate skin with wrinkles, and frost their manes with white …
… is a cruelty worse than knowing that we will continue to forget and lose even those those things that we still enjoy. Our loss will progress, until for us, memory is no more; and it will be our children who are gazing, in their turn, upon their babes, and wondering how it could be that their golden curls of childhood are turning into ever widening strands of silver.
August 13th, 2007 at 10:45 pm
Very thoughtful post Moof.
I have a bald headed son with the middeage spread, a daughter with grey hair and as for myself, enough said. But you know, inside I’m still young at heart and I don’t feel any different from what I did thirty years ago or even forty. I hope that’s the way I’ll go out, with my interest in life and natural curiosity still intact.
regards
jmb
August 14th, 2007 at 9:47 am
Hi Moof,
I know what your mean. When I pass by a store window, I wonder who that old person is looking back. When a horn sounds as I walk along the street, I still look, thinking it must be some guy honking at cute me.
We still can enjoy nature, even if it takes us a little longer to walk the trails (although we can’t stray too far from a bathroom). We can enjoy the rivers and let others do the paddling of the canoe. We have earned that little bit of pampering.
We can still enjoy child-like behavior as we bring our grandchildren to see the wonders of the world. People don’t look at grandparents as odd as they get on the teacup ride.
Looking forward to sharing some nature time with you.
How is the week before Labor Day? Any time in there for Ken and me?
Love,
Barbara
August 14th, 2007 at 11:37 am
Time is the master of us all… it can be cruel sometimes but also kind. take care miss moof
August 15th, 2007 at 4:00 am
Hi Moof,
It’s award time, again. Come on by and pick it up at your leisure.
regards
jmb
August 15th, 2007 at 8:10 am
Hi,
Nice blog! What about link exchange with my one?
Here it is 2funnyquotes.blogspot.com
If u agree, then post a comment on my blog.
Good Luck,
Lae
August 15th, 2007 at 2:52 pm
For me, it was realizing that doing a cart wheel isn’t as easy as it was when I was a kid. It’s weird when I try to do something (like ballet for instance) and it just isn’t as easy as it was in the past. I remember how easy it once was, but I can’t get my body to comply . . . I color the grays, and so far I don’t have many wrinkles, but I’m seeing the changes . . . I can’t imagine seeing the changes in my own children yet. *sigh*
August 15th, 2007 at 3:04 pm
I should know better than to go looking for thought provoking blogs. All I ever succeed in doing is finding something that makes me cry. Great post.
August 15th, 2007 at 6:58 pm
W Wonderful post!!
August 15th, 2007 at 8:06 pm
I enjoyed reading your post knowing how true it is. My own son is 41 but he still climbs trees and more. Me, on the other hand, who used to white water canoe and climb cliffs can’t do those things any more, but I still remember and mourn the loss. Nothing will stop the passage of time, we can only do the best we can…ciao
August 15th, 2007 at 11:24 pm
Oh Moofie. (((hug)))
It’s a hauntingly beautiful post.
I watched a play the other day about the passage of time. Life is funny in that way - going through it makes one forget that things pass so quickly. All the ups and the downs in life are so “now,” so real, and seem to last so long, but as soon as they pass, they becoming but fading memories.
Perhaps there is truth to the phrase that “life is but a dream”…
August 16th, 2007 at 3:42 pm
That was beautiful Moof. I remember my father telling me how he still felt 20 inside, but then looked in the mirror and realized time had moved on. The inside felt the same, but the appearance changed. I can understand that now.
August 18th, 2007 at 11:01 am
JMB, thank you. You know, when I think of you, I can’t assign an age to you. You come across like a young person with a great deal of wisdom. The nice thing about blogging - ages stop mattering. You can see the person, rather than the shell.
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Barbara - thank you for the thoughtful comment. I’ve sent you an email - please let me know if you don’t get it, okies?
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Wolfbaby - yes indeed, time masters us all. Excellent point, my friend.
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Ripple … I’ve never been able to do a cartwheel!
Seeing my kids aging has been far harder for me than seeing myself age. It’s also put a keen aching inside for a chance to talk to my own parents, both of which have been gone for a long time, now.
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Christine, welcome to my blog, and thank you for the very kind comment.
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RDL … thank you for the comment, and vising and reading. :o)
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Rositta … that’s so true: nothing will stop the passage of time. Thank you for your comment!
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Wandering Visitor … sometimes it does seem that “life is but a dream” … and it makes you wonder why all of the “intensity.” But then again, there are dreams, and there are dreams.
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Angel, my sweet friend, thank you for your comment. Yes, appearances change - usually more than we do on the inside. Time is a thief … it steals us away from ourselves when we’re not paying attention.
August 24th, 2007 at 1:48 am
Somewhere I once read that time is an illusion, that the past, present
and future are all one. Do you suppose that could be true? It is a
difficult concept that gives me brainstrain!
I know what you mean though about seeing your children age. Mine
are now 40 thru 46 and I definitely see the changes - the softening
of the line of the jaw, the early wrinkles, the few strands of
gray, the slight paunch - seems so sad—.
And, I look in the mirror, and think WHO is that OLD woman??
Happens to us all if we live long enough.