"DOES ANYBODY REALLY

KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?" asks the lyrics of the "Chicago" song. And then: "Does anybody really care?"

This is a post--about time. I'm going to borrow some of Chicago's lyrics to add a bit of poetry to this one.


As I was walking down the street one day
A man came up to me and asked me
What the time was that was on my watch
Yeah... and I said

(I don't) Does anybody really know what time it is?
(Care) Does anybody really care?
(About time) If so, I can't imagine why
(Oh no, no) We've all got time enough to cry


Maybe it's inevitable that us old guys spend time wondering about time and wandering through those pleasant, peaceful places of reverie. It doesn't take much to push me there. According to notes written on my grade school report cards and whispered to my parents at Parent/Teacher Conferences, I am a master daydreamer. A waste of time? Certainly not! But, even if it is: so what?

I was listening to my "Heavy Rotation Mix" on Apple Music--songs that I play over and over. The song playing was "Living On Tulsa Time" by Don Williams. Immediately I was a kid again in my home town. I spent my first twenty-ish coming-of-age years Living On Tulsa Time. Happy days indeed; at least as I choose to remember them. Where did the time go? Really. Where DID the time go?

The happier the time, the shorter it seems.
— Pliny the Younger. 105.

And I was walking down the street one day
A pretty lady looked at me
And said her diamond watch had stopped cold dead
And I said

(I don't) Does anybody really know what time it is?
(Care) Does anybody really care?
(About time) If so, I can't imagine why
(Oh no, no) We've all got time enough to cry


Jerry Seinfeld, in a video sharing his "essential" stuff, explains his favorite way to brew coffee: using a Moka Pot. He explains that it is complicated and time-consuming but that's what he likes about it. In the video he shares this viewpoint: "The secret of life is to waste time in ways that you like. You spend all your life trying to save time but when you get to the end of your life--there's no time left--then you'll go to heaven and you'll go: 'but wait I had velcro sneakers and no-iron shirts and a clip-on tie. What about all that time?!' It's gone." --Jerry Seinfeld

Let's look at that one part again, the part where he says, "The secret of life is to waste time in ways that you like."

Maybe you've heard: I got a new globe. It's wonderful. Our GrandGuys (ages 7 and 5) came for a visit the other day. They noticed the globe right away. Aha, this will be my chance to teach them a bit of geography. They were fascinated! Not by my grasp of geography, but "Hey let's see how fast we can spin it!"

"Don't," I say, lovingly and instructively. "If you spin it too fast all the little people all over the earth will go flying off into space." A quick lesson on gravity and basic physics? Not interested. We did take time to find Oklahoma and the United States. "It's kind of small." says the seven year old. In the scope of the whole big ball, it is, kind of small. I explained that some day we might also have this part (pointing at Greenland). "What do you mean?" the five year old wonders out loud. Good question.

It was fun and time well-spent and it went by in a blur like a spinning globe. BTW: it will spin really fast; and sometimes it feels like it is spinning really fast. (Weird thought: Wouldn't it be crazy if God just got fed up with us and decided to give it a good spin and we would all go flying off into space along with parts from one of Elon's blown up rockets.)


And I was walking down the street one day
Being pushed and shoved by people
Trying to beat the clock, oh, no
I just don't know, I don't know, I don't know-oh

And I said... yes, I said
People runnin' everywhere
Don't know where to go
Don't know where I am
Can't see past the next step
Don't have time to think past the last one
Have no time to look around
Just run around, run around think why


Time is like a river made up of the events which happen, and a violent stream; for as soon as a thing has been seen, it is carried away, and another comes in its place, and this will be carried away too.
— Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

I think I get what Marcus is saying, but what about reverie Marcus? Things don't get carried away all together. Something is left behind. I remember friends and loved ones who have gone before me. I remember living on Tulsa time. I remember our first date, our first kiss, the births of our sons... Know what I mean.

Sometimes I wish I could make time slow down, but if Pliny The Younger is right: that happy and fleeting go together, I'll take that. Like Jerry, my morning coffee routine is time consuming, but it makes coffeetime sweeter. Treading in the dark land of politics and its sordid affair with religion makes four years seem like an eternity. Realizing how fast the Grands are growing is dizzying but glorious. Watching them become the beautiful people they are: worth it. Marcus' time-as-a-river metaphor has sent me to remembering another--from one of my favorite books/movies of all time: A River Runs Through It.

“Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them.

“Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn’t. Like many fly fisherman in western Montana, where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.

"I am haunted by waters.”

THOUGHTS AT 74

I'm sensing that I may not be sensing as much as I used to. Take seeing, smelling, touching, hearing and tasting; sometimes those things don't seem as sharp as they once were, say, fifty or one year ago.

I need My Amazing-Missus more. I need her to tell me if the milk smells okay, or if the turkey, which looks a little greenish to me, tastes safe. Remember the old joke about the cannibal that took a bite of a clown and then asked his wife, "Does this taste funny to you?"

At first I thought maybe I just wasn't paying attention. According to some teachers of my school-days I have that inclination--to not pay attention. Maybe now, as then, I tend to be picky about what I find to be attention-worthy. I think I've already established that if your give-a-crapper is broken, your sense of attention-paying is afflicted as well. It's hard to pay attention to what you don't care about.

A few days ago at a holiday gathering, my youngest Grand, soon to be five, was reminiscing about a Christmas past (one of his four). "Hey, Pops, hey! Do you remember that time..." Honestly; I said that I didn't recall that. "What's wrong old man can't you remember stuff?" he said with love.

I explained to him that I have a zillion-million more memories to keep track of than he does. Then I used a sure-fire strategy to change the subject, "Hey do you want to watch Sonic or Ninja Turtles or something else enriching?"

Jeremiah and I are the chronological bookends of our family. He's the one that helps me most to stay anchored in the reality that I'm old, but that maybe I have strengths now that I didn't have when I was younger. He doesn't have to verbally remind me that I'm old. It can happen like this: "Hey, Pops, Hey, why don't you sit on the floor and we'll play Spiderman with these Legos?!" I assess the situation and imagine trying to get up from the floor in an hour or so. "How about if we pretend that I'm a creature from the planet 'Recliner' and I'm trapped in it's extra-strong gravitational pull." He seems to accept this premise. "Are you good or bad?" he asks. "The jury is still out."

Is it true that if someone is lacking in one of the senses, the others are somehow enhanced to make up the difference? I've always heard that. Is it true that if you are diminshed olfactory-wise that your sense of taste is stricken as well?

Now I'm veering off into physical science and I have no business there. Let's get back to psycho-social space, a room I have now qualms about bouncing around in.

One of my favorite movies set around Christmas and the days after is The Family Man starring Nicholas Cage and Téa Leoni. It has a feeling of old scrooge being carried back and forward in time. Cage's character "Jack" is given the opportunity to catch a glimpse of what his life might have looked like and somehow magically having the chance to make a new choice.

- Please just tell me what's happening to me in plain English...without the mumbo-jumbo.

- This is a glimpse, Jack.

- A glimpse? A glimpse of what?

- You're gonna have to figure that out for yourself and you got plenty of time.

- How much time?

- As much time as it takes, which in your case is probably gonna be considerable.

That's a few lines from the movie--sort of a teaser. It's worth watching, IMHO. (As the kids say).

While my five physical senses may not be as sharp as they once were, others are serving me well: my sense of humor, my sense of authenticity vs. B.S., my sense of what's important, my sense of faith and hope, my sense of urgency.

Here's what I mean about that last one, hoping to not sound too doom and gloomish. I mentioned Jeremiah's four Christmases of memories and my seventy-three. (I wrote about Remembering in my last post.) Obviously he has years of memories to come. Me? Not as many. Just facts. The sense of urgency though of seizing moments isn't really about limited time. It's about being extra alert, listening, seeing, hearing, tasting and touching as I never have before. Soaking up as much as I can. Wringing the cloth of every drop of opportunity. Even though I may not see as well as I once did, I know for a fact that if I take the time and give the attention I will be able to see more than I ever have. Now, whether I'll be able to remember it tomorrow... Even my nearly 5 year-old grandson knows that us old men tend to forget; but only some things. Others are indelible.

Here’s one of my favorite poems, one by Walt Whitman. Some say that old Walt was gay and that this poem was about a meeting with someone he knew intimately. For me it is about the relationship of an old man and the person he was when he was young. I often remember that person--the me of my youth. A person who had a wide-eyed, sometimes naive curiosity, drawn to creativity that brought discovery and joy.

A Glimpse: Poem by Walt Whitman

A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,

Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,

late of a winter night--And I unremark'd seated in a corner;

Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and

seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;

A long while, amid the noises of coming and going--of drinking and

oath and smutty jest,

There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,

perhaps not a word.

I'll admit. Sometimes I enjoy the company of the memories of grade-school me, or high school graduate me, or newly married me, or first-time father me, or Pops me. It gives me a glimpse of what was, what might have been and what can be. Those old friends give perspective and are useful to us.

For example, recently, we took GrandGirl Nora to a gymnastics meet. As we drew close to the venue, she talked about being nervous. She didn't ask if I've ever been nervous before a big event, but I offered an unsolicited anecdote anyway--something I enjoy doing. I told her about my first accordian concert. I was six. Dressed in black pants, a white sportcoat, and little black bowtie. I squeezed my best version of "Three Blind Mice" out of that shiny black accordian. I returned to my seat next to my parents. Mom was dabbing her eyes with a tissue. I guess when you think about it, it is a sad song. These poor little mice were not only blind but they had just had there tails whacked off with a carver's knife by the farmer's wife. Anyway, the point of my story of empathy regarding pre-performance jitters was lost because I had to try to explain to Nora what an accordian was and why I was forced to take lessons on the thing. The good news: the story got us to the venue where she saw a teammate and her coach. Five gold medals and one silver, and all was well.

P.S.: At 74 I’m starting my 75th year. As I look at the world as it is, I have a few of those butterflies and jitters, however, I am not without hope. I have a glimpse and a sense that there is a plan bigger than all of us. “A plan for good and not for evil”. Here's a link to a post I wrote more than five years ago. It's still true for me. Maybe you'll find it helpful. CLICK HERE TO READ IT.

WHO'S TEAM IS GOD ON?

I watched most every game of the Women's College Softball World Series. It is a thoroughly enjoyable sport to watch; especially when the teams from your state's largest universities are in the tournament.

It's over for 2024 and the Oklahoma Sooners won their fourth championship in a row. That's never been done before and it's the cherry on top of mountain of firsts for this team. The Texas Longhorns were rated #1, but the Sooners beat them in the first two games of the best of three.

Many of the Sooners when asked about this phenomenal run, thanked God.

photo source unknown

That seemed to bother some folks.

  • Do they think God actually cares about softball?

  • Do they think that God favors one team over another?

  • Do they really believe that if one player has a quick prayer with a team mate before she goes up to bat that God will somehow energize her and/or her bat so she hits a walk off home run to pull victory from a must-win game situation where the other team might have actually played the better game?

Time out. Let's do a closer review.

A lot of people don't like the Sooners (especially those that wear burnt orange and people who were regular orange and columbia blue and clap their hands by extending their arms and moving them together and apart vertically.) A lot of people feel like the Sooners are cocky and show-offy.

Did I mention that this team has been weirdly and wildly successful? "So are you saying that they have some sort of divine anointing?"

If God loved Oklahoma better than Texas maybe he would nudge tornado alley a bit south, say below the Red River, instead of the heart of it going right over Norman, Oklahoma, home of the Sooners.

Here are some thoughts about these holy name-droppers, for what they're worth:

Maybe there is actually an innocent, and maybe, naive humility among these super Sooner softballers. It is from that place that gratitude can spring. I'm sure these girls are grateful to their parents and grandparents for their support and sacrifice and sportly genetics. I'm sure they are grateful to their coaches--who apparently are some of the best to be found. I'm sure they are grateful to their fans and friends. But there's more gratitude to go around. Gratitude is one of those things that must be expressed. When a person or a team has worked so hard and accomplished so much there is lot of it to be expressed. There is also a lot of exuberance among this team. That's another thing that demands expression--in proportion to the depth of it.

It's easy (at least for me) to see that these young women find themselves at a sort of pinnacle so that there must be something at play here that is, well, beyond/Beyond. What I'm saying is that maybe they haven't become so jaded yet, so arrogant to be blinded by the wonder of the whole experience. What does it hurt for them to find a way to express all that gratitude and exuberance?

The words of G.K. Chesteron come to mind:

“The worst moment for an atheist is when he is really thankful and has no one to thank.
I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought, and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder. The aim of life is appreciation; there is no sense in not appreciating things; and there is no sense in having more of them if you have less appreciation of them. When it comes to life the critical thing is whether you take things for granted or take them with gratitude.”

RESOLUTIONS the 2024 VERSION

#1. ACT MY AGE. I'm pretty sure that when we hear this phrase we usually assume that the person is acting immaturely or pretending to be younger than they are. For me, with this resolution, I'm shooting for not acting older than I am. In a few days I'll be 73. When I have aches and pains, when I walk into a room and can't remember why, when my first instinct is to complain, I'll try to remember that I'm not 74 or more.

I'm not sure when the switch flipped for me--the change from a borderline Peter Pan Syndrome kind of guy to the stereotypical cranky curmudgeon. The point is I'm not sure I am, ever have been, or ever will be, self-aware enough to find reality, but if I ever do I'm going to get a firm grip on it. (If I like what I see that is. If not, I'll make something up,)

#2. MAKE A NEW FRIEND. Can we all agree that friendship is on a scale sort of like air temperature and humidity? There are those friendships that are long and intimate. There are those that if we met on the street we would recognize each other and maybe reminisce about shared experiences. I heard a radio program recently about the decline in friendships among men. There was a lot of speculation and presciptions, but the one thing that seemed to be true was that you have to make the effort. Friendships, like all relationships, seem to need some nurture, care and effort. Is this resolution worthy of being a resolution? For me it is, not because I don't value friendships, I'm just so strongly introverted (not shy) that friending is a challenge.

What am I looking for in a friend besides possible future pall bearer material? I suppose if I were posting something in a publication or app designed for friend-finding my list might look something like this:

  • Good storyteller with good stories to tell.

  • Has more than a passing interest in some form of the arts.

  • Able to talk for more than an hour without getting into current politics. (Unless you agree with my worldview of course.)

  • Has at some point in their past owned a turntable and a collection of albums that included at least two of the following:

The Beatles
Miles Davis
Blood Sweat and Tears
Bob Dylan
Crosby, Stills, and Nash, and/or Neil Young or The Byrds or Buffalo Springfield or The Kinks
Marvin Gaye
The Beach Boys
Led Zeppelin
Eva Cassidy

  • Has at some point shot a few rolls of B&W film.

  • Regularly asks to see photos of my Grand Kids.

  • Doesn't complain about the cost of the cup of coffee we're visiting over.

  • Is near equal parts excited and afraid of AI.

And that's pretty much it.

#3. DEFY THE MAGNETIC PULL OF LETHARGY. In all areas. Intellectually. Spiritually. Emotionally. Socially. Physically. Of course each of those are in the fabric of all of us and impact the other in a Newtonian way. Picture that little pendulum thing with the line up of steel balls hanging in a perfect row. Pull one back let it go and somehow the energy--both kinetic and potential--unleashed, transfers through each and sends the last in line swinging. I'm glad. Sometimes that first ball may be the Spiritual one. When I pull it back it impacts all the others, hopefully making me a better friend, steward, husband, dad and Pops.

I'm a full year into retirement now. We've done some traveling. We've been to basketball games, piano recitals, dance recitals, gymnastics meets, school programs, a wonderful vacation with all the kids. So far, so good. I had a friend named Grady Nutt who wrote a book where he turned that little phrase around and used it for the title, "So Good, So Far". I would rather use that version to describe this year. I had another friend named Gladys Lewis. She titled one of her books, "On Earth As It Is", obviously borrowing just enough of a phrase from the Lord's Prayer to invite us to take a realist view of life.

In that spirit, in this retirement thing, there's still been a lot of time that I haven't really known what to do with. That's fine with me. I can always read or write, listen to great music, watch an old movie, or take a nap. I start the day with peanut butter and strawberry spread, coffee and puzzles. Then I move to my little den with a second cup of coffee and read the New York Times online along with a few of my favorite writers. Often there will something there that will push me into a rabbit hole, clicking links, watching YouTube. Then, before you know it, it's time to ask My Amazing Missus, "What sounds good for lunch?" carefully avoiding a stupid question like, "What are you fixing for lunch?"

Back in the days leading up to retirement she would tell people that when I retired she planned to retire from cooking. I have actually done a good bit of that. I like to find a new recipe or spice up an old favorite.

Still. There are times when I'm like a lazy old dog just lying in the way. When my Apple Watch buzzs and tells me it's time to stand up and move around, I usually do. I meander around the house. Sometimes I'll stand in the doorway of her sewing room and ask her how it's going. For the first time in 50 years, we're here, together. I'm loving it. But I've crashed on her couch so to speak, and I'm here to stay.

Our taste in TV programming doesn't overlap much. The other day she came in and asked, "What in the world are you watching?" I explained that I was now eight episodes into something the kids call "Gilmore girls". I told her I was discovering much to my skepticism that it is some of the best writing of any series I remember. "Sit down and I'll start at the beginning." For a week now we've been watching a few episodes each night. Last night we watched Season 2, Episode 14, the one where Richard, the husband, father and grandfather to the Gilmore girls has just retired. Emily, the mother, is telling Lorelai, the daughter, how it's going so far.

"We've never really been home at the same time. He's always here. Watching me, and noticing when I move a vase."

My Amazing-Missus laughed too hard and too knowingly at that. I think I may have heard her whisper, "Amen, sister."

Later in the episode, after Richard has made himself a nuisance to each of the Gilmore girls, Lorilei, his daughter tells him to back off; he says,

"You know I never thought about retirement. I never thought about what I'd do or what I'd be once I wasn't working. I never once thought that I would go from being a productive member of the human race to a decrepit old drone sitting at the club at 3:00 PM drinking brandy and playing cards. I'm an annoyance to my wife and a burden to my daughter. Suddenly I realize what it feels like to be obsolete. I hope that you never have to learn what that feels like."

Here's my plan: when someone asks me what I'm doing in retirement I'm going to tell them that I'm defying lethargy. I'm gaining energy--both potential and kinetic: In all areas. Intellectually. Spiritually. Emotionally. Socially. Physically. Then I will quote Whitman, and that should end the discussion.


O Me! O Life!
Walt Whitman
1819 – 1892

O Me! O life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.