Time.  

When I was young and full of crap I used to go on a rant about how time was man's invention and had nothing to do with real life and that our attachment to clocks and calendars was unnatural.  Or some such malarkey.

As I have progressed through life (isn't that a nice way to say I have aged?) I have discovered that time means so many different things to me now.  I just spent time with my family.  Time well spent.  It took me time to get there.  I had a wonderful time.  There were happy times and busy times and silly times.  By the time I got home I needed extra time before the time came for me to go back to work.  Time, time, time.

During my week with my family we discussed time in terms of how long it has been since our mom died -- one year.  We talked about the time we had with her before she died, the weeks immediately preceding her death, and the years spent growing up with her.  Then, there were the final days of her life.  None of  it time that any of us regret and all of it time we celebrated as we came together on the anniversary of her passing.  I spent a lot of time reflecting on the many years Momma and Daddy had together.



We spent some time talking about healing old wounds and reclaiming relationships gone astray over time.  We embraced one another because it was about time to grow from some of our missteps and perhaps even some misspent time.

Of course, since it was vacation, the time went very quickly.  One week was not enough time.  I have been home five days and it already feels like my vacation was a month ago.  It's all relevant, isn't it?

My days are full.  I wake up at pretty much the same time every morning.  I walk my dog at the same time for the same amount of time.  I eat breakfast at the same time.  Depending on the day of the week I have appointments to get to or errands to run or chores to accomplish, all taking up the moments of my day until it is, once again, time to go to work

My time at work is fairly predictable.  I start at the same time and I end at the same time.  I go to bed at the same time.

Oh, my.  I sound boring, don't I?  I guess I could take the time to flesh out the appointments, errands, and chores that I spend my time attending to.  Perhaps if I did that my life would sound more interesting and you would know, as I do, that it is, generally, all time well spent.  But, alas, I do not have the time to do that today.  Some other time.

My friends have urged me to start a blog.  I often respond that I will do that one day.  When I have the time I will blog.  

What does that mean?  When I have the time?  I have just as much time in my day as any other person does.  There are 24 hours, eight of which are spent sleeping (I hope), eight of which are spent working (they hope), leaving another eight to do what I want.  Yes, many of my days are full.  I volunteer.  My dog volunteers.  I have friends I have lunch or dinner with.  I go for walks.  I go to Weight Watcher meetings.  Yes, I am busy.  However, I do have time on my hands.  I realized, again, this weekend that I was wasting some of that time doing inconsequential things.  (I confess that facebook has become a drug that I find hard to break away from -- not saying that all my interactions on facebook are inconsequential, quite the contrary.  That said, I am hereby making a pledge to myself to not respond to everything and to avoid the urge to scroll all the way down every time I log on.  I am not sure I am ready, yet, to swear off checking my wall every couple of hours or so.)

So.  In the interest of doing what interests me, I am stepping into a blog.  I do not have any idea how consistent or profound my entries will be, but I am pretty sure I will find enjoyment in expressing myself to my friends.

All that prelude leads me to share something I found among my mother's papers this weekend.  I wrote this during my first summer in Tucson and Momma loved it enough that she saved it in an envelope of important papers.

"August 27, 2004

I have set myself a task this night.  As I sat on my balcony watching the storm brewing at sunset I knew I had to find a way to paint a picture of it.  Since I have two left hands when it comes to drawing, sketching, or painting I must rely on creating a picture for you with words.

How to string them together so as to depict a summer storm in the desert is daunting.

To merely tell you that as the sun slipped below the horizon the sky was tinted with layers of popsicle colors does not come close to what I want you to see.  Imagine, first, the skyline.  From my perspective on the second floor, I see trees -- more trees than you would expect to see in the Sonoran Desert.  Admittedly, I am in Tucson where people have been cultivating shade for a couple of hundred years.  Mesquites.  Palo Verdes.  Palms.  Eucalyptus.  All combining to give depth and contour to the evening sky.

Now.  See the mountains in the distance.  Rugged, exciting, awe inspiring, and somehow comforting as they loom in every direction.  No matter where you are in Tucson you are likely to see a mountain in the distance, in any given direction.  These mountains, particularly the very close Santa Catalinas to the north and the Tucsons in the west, provide a striking backdrop for the colors of sunset as they meet with the drama of the storm.

Soft corals, bright oranges and reds are layered along the western horizon, creating a sharp contrast for the most perfect of turquoises, soft blues, and deep azure.  Azure is a word I don't use often, however, it seems to be the only way to describe this vividly brilliant of blues glimpsed between the gray-black storm clouds.  Dotted with the tiny diamond light of emerging stars, it is breathtaking.

And, then, witness the encroaching storm.  We've all see the photographs.  We've all experienced thunder and lightning.  But, only those in the desert are favored with a spectacle that truly does defy description.  As you recall a postcard or a full color spread in National Geographic try to feel the intensity and the excitement.  Experience the static and that infinitesimal moment of still preceding the shattering of all calm.

I had thought my years in Tennessee had jaded me to the wonders of a thunderstorm.  The desert surprises me at every turn, no less so than during a monsoon at sunset."

So.  A moment in time.  I am glad I took the time to record and share it with my mother.  I love that she thought enough of this little piece to save it for another moment when I would stumble upon it and remember that life is all about time and how we observe it, how we make use of it, and how we must always cherish it.