Extra time is a dream, otherwise it would be part of a plan.
Whether it’s a travel plan, a honey-do list, or something more involved, like planning a good life with loved ones, there’s never enough time.
We (my wife) cooked corned beef for dinner that started out in a slow cooker.
One recipe called for eight hours, so we changed venues from slow cooker to a huge stock pot when the slow cooker wouldn’t come to a boil fast enough.
Dinner time is not midnight; we’re not part of the ‘late dinner’ set.
Besides, by nine I’ve already had tea and cookies for dessert, my wife has left the couch, and I’m into a small bowl of ice cream with a plan for PB&J coming into sight.
One of the reasons for going to bed early as a baby boomer? Hide from the fridge.
Go open a book, not a loaf of bread.
If you’re like me, food is always a good idea, and you don’t mind eating anything at anytime.
You don’t need extra time if you eat in the car.
The corned beef turned out good, on time, and now we’ve got a huge pot of corned beef broth for soup.
Luckily, I like soup. What’s better than a strong soup and steamed vegetables?
Better yet, mix a bowl of cut broccoli and spinach, pour soup over it, and microwave it all together.
That’s my current weight loss plan: nutrient dense calories.
If I get any fatter at least it will be firm fat, not that boozy jiggle.
A guy’s got to have a plan.
Losing Extra Time
If you’re honest, you know you’ve never had extra time from the beginning.
But if we did?
I’d like extra time in third grade with Mrs. Krauss and her art projects.
Extra time in high school, like a red-shirt senior year, would’ve been nice for sports because I peaked the summer I graduated.
I’d finally learned how to win close contests on the wrestling mats, before the wake up of college wrestling followed by Army wrestling.
Although it wasn’t extra, I did find more time when I moved back to Oregon from NYC, the city that never sleeps.
Back in the late-70′,early-80’s, Portland was a city that didn’t want to wake up.
Its sweet reputation was as a place where rich hippies retired and sent their kids to Reed College.
From east coast to west, time slowed down; the pace of life slowed down, the traffic slowed down.
Or maybe it was just the time? I was in my mid-twenties, no car, a bike, working a non-profit job, and living in a small apartment with low rent.
In other words, the kind of dive place I’d been living in.
The people around me were either divorced and handling it poorly, professionals on track for a bright future, or slackers getting by.
One guy was a grocery clerk, another dipped metal into big tanks of galvanizing fluid.
One woman was a book-seller, another a professional photographer.
It was an eclectic neighborhood full of people on their way to someplace else.
Except me. I’d already been someplace else. Twice.
I was home for the duration.
Changing Times, Old To New
The first time I dodged marriage I swore off the whole thing.
No wedding day smiles, no walk down the aisle, no wedding coat, none of it.
The second time was about to go the same way, except my potential mother-in-law was in town to make wedding plans.
The difference?
We broke up, reported the break-up to mummy, who said, “You’ve got cold feet.”
Cold feet? I took her up on it and warmed them up after my break-up partner told me her plans for the future.
They didn’t include me. Why wouldn’t her future plans not include me?
I found the answer to my question and got married. Cold feet? Ha. That’ll show ’em.
When you have kids, all of the wise men and women like to tell you how fast it all goes.
After the kids grow up and have their own kids it really sinks in.
Time passers faster and faster until it’s a blur.
So try and keep focused, pick your spots, and show up.
You don’t need to fix anything, start anything, or end anything.
Just show up like you know what you’re doing.
Remember the main question:
Can I help with anything?
Other than that, let them tell you how things are.
About David Gillaspie
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