It’s Quarter to Eight

I just finished reading an article on Quantum Jumping and watching a National Geographic special on distances, sizes, and ages of stars in the cosmos. so how can I bring myself back to an understanding of what possible difference fifteen minutes can make.  Then I’m remembering the old “Relativity” example: The difference between two seconds in the arms of your lover and two seconds of your hand on a hot stove. So I guess it’s all relative. 

Now that I’m retired, time has less meaning for me. I have my routine, breakfast, write, lunch, sleep, write, watch TV, supper and sleep. Most days fall into this itinerary and I’m perfectly content with it. During my work life, many days passed where I found little to celebrate—then those rare days when my satisfaction reached the ceiling of  contentment. I think it was the times that I did work where creativity was involved, like designing a web page or conference. 

Here in my retirement, every day is mine to design for good, great, or not. Most days my satisfaction depends entirely on me and my amount of discipline. There are those occasional times when I have to do something for someone else and I grumble. 

Mary Oliver had a lovely poem this morning on Writers’ Almanac and I found myself wondering why I can’t write like Mary. When I write bucolicly my readers barely contain their ho-hums and turned-back eyes. When I have passed to wherever, I hope they have stars and galaxies to ponder on, the closest I can come to this is to cover a variegated colored paper with black crayon and scratch a design in the black to look like stars falling and comets bursting.

I don’t know how to draw life.