Time is My Time

Hey, here’s a question: Can you guys believe we’re a) nearly halfway through the summer, and b) nearly halfway through 2012? (I mistakenly thought 2012’s halfway point was a couple of weeks ago [and that I’d missed it], but Norm consoled me and pointed out that I was just bad at math, and  it wasn’t really until the end of the month.) I mean, it seems like just last week we were shaking our tailfeathers into 2012. It seems like we were at the beach just 57 days ago (maybe we were; maybe we weren’t. I’m bad at math. What’s that? You want a picture of us at the beach? FINE, twist my arm.)

Come on, that’s gold. Anyway, the days are a tickin’ by, fast and slow, all at the same time. The seconds behind the desk definitely jump from future to past more slowly than the hours I’m hanging out by the lake; those gallop by in whole chunks, I tell you. And with a few gone, I’m staring down the barrel of July. Half of me squeals with joy: that much closer to the return of my people! That much closer to another season, where we don’t dehydrate from walking to the mailbox, where we can hang out on the steps of Gorgas (for one more year!), where we can watch our football team win another national championship. The other half sits on the riverbank and swoons in the sun. “It’s so sweet,” that half says. “Don’t take it away.” Are you guys used to this yet? The mingled contraries of my soul? I think it describes life so perfectly: “Yes. No. I want to stay. I want to go. Hello. Goodbye. Summer. But, fall.” My name is Lindsey, and I am your resident nostalgic. (I moonlight as a pb&j sandwich chef/editorial assistant/storyteller.) See, watch this. Tell me your heart doesn’t go boom boom boom.

RIGHT? We were babies! Babies! Speaking of, who’s excited about the poetic waxing that will happen once I have children? “Wahhhh, my baby probably spit up for the last time today! I. can’t. take. it.” (Don’t worry, Mom. You’ve got at least 12 years to prepare for grandgoslings.) But, oh, it’s my song. And still, my heart is halfway rushing toward what’s next, awaiting to be washed by whatever loveliness it will bring: home-again faces, poetry class, football season. The other half is gently gripping what it’s got: lazy mornings, a 40-hour-a-week paycheck, hour-long walks by the river. So it goes.

It hit me (again) when I was home this weekend: Babies grow up. (Cue Landslide.) Case in point: My baby is number four.

I still get really taken aback when I hear him read. “Since when can you read?” He rolls his eyes. “Um, since kindergarten?” Right. And then there was this:

I tried so hard not to laugh, and I mustered a, “Uh, where did you learn that?” before I had to go tweet about it. I guess growing-up kids aren’t so bad. I like eight-year-old quips. (And homeboy is a stellar first baseman. Talk about pride. “THAT’S MY NEPHEW!” I said to the man on the bleachers, my mom, the cashier at Wendy’s. . .)

So, summer. Halfway. Bananas, right? Humor me. Tell me it’s getting you.

That we can (sun)kiss June goodbye. That we’re half a year away from 2013 (the year I graduate. The year you might graduate [I don’t know who you are] but if you do, congratulations!) That time is skipping by (unless I’m sitting at a desk.) On the other hand, tell me a sense of possibility swells within you, too.

That we’ll rushing back into arms we’ve missed, bubbling over with May-June-July tales. That we have the promise of fall leaves and hot chocolate coffee ahead. That we’ve nearly accomplished something great and big, that we’re about to skip ourselves into greater and bigger things.

time is a tree (this life one leaf)
but love is the sky and i am for you
just so long and long enough [EEC]

I mention this to Janie often; she gives me a knowing smile. “You’ve still got a month and a half.” And when I lament over mid-August’s far-off landfall: “Only a month and a half!” Depends on how you look at it, I guess. We’ve still got half the summer left. So much time for so many river walks! And still, we’ll be dancing into fall before we know it. We’re 1,000 miles away, but we get to write letters. Mingled contraries. Somewhere along the way, I remember it all passes exactly as it should.

One thing I do regret about this summer? I have not eaten nearly enough ice cream in the first half. I’m stepping up my game.


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