24 November, 2008

~ Conversation with my son ~

I was sitting in a big chair in my husband’s den, watching him play darts when the phone rang.

Me (having looked at Caller ID): Centre of the Universe, how may I direct your call?

Son: Um, WHERE have I reached?

Me: The Centre of the Universe.

Son: Oh, then I'd like to speak with Jesus please.

Me: I'm sorry sir, Jesus is unavailable at the moment. May I take a message for Him?

Son: Yes. Tell Him the King of Egypt called and he'd like his robe back.

Me: The King of Egypt called and he'd like his robe back?

Son: Yes.

Me: Alright, and would you please tell the King of Egypt he has a hair appointment on Monday at four o'clock?

Son: Monday at four? Sweet. I'll tell him. Oh, and one more thing ma'am....

Me: Yes?

Son: Would you please tell Jesus I can't make the board meeting, that I will be in a supper meeting with the people at Clairsville?

Me: You have a supper meeting with the people at Clairsville, right.

Son: Thank you, ma'am. Have a nice evening.

Me: You're welcome sir. Have a nice evening.

I wish I had captured the expression on my husband’s face after I ended the phone call. It was one of incredulous confusion. I smiled sweetly at him. He said, “What WAS that? Translation, please?”

Translation: Son won't be home for supper, he's at Clair's house, and Mum made an appointment for a hair cut, as requested.

I love that boy’s guts!

(still laughing)

10 November, 2008

~ Half An Hour ~

Half an hour. Not a long time, really...unless you are holding your breath, then half an hour is an eternity. Einstein was right about Relativity, you know. He was right about a lot of things, that's why they have called him a genius. I don't know that he was a genius so much as he was a thinker. He thought things all the way through. Too many people don't do enough thinking.

But that's just my opinion.

Then again, my family tells me I think too much. They tell me I ask too many questions, too. They ask me why I need to know so many things. I ask them how their questioning my questioning is different from my questioning everything else. They tell me they are late for something they forgot to do...somewhere else...somewhere I am not.


I had my coat on at 7:40 this morning, was headed out the door to collect the last of the Remembrance Day wreaths and poppy trays from local businesses before tomorrow's ceremony. About halfway across the front porch, I realised that none of the places I had to collect from would be open until at least nine o'clock...and some places not until ten.

(slap to the forehead)

Right then. Now what?

Half an hour on, I had checked my email, answered my brother, sent out a request, increased my eBay bid on a silk shrug, read several news articles, and swallowed a cup of tea before it was properly cool enough to drink.

Right then. Now what?

A call from work asking if I could come in early - I would, but there is the matter of the wreaths and trays, which I can leave to collect in about half an hour. The process of collecting the final few will take, perhaps, and only because they are located in businesses clustered together in the downtown core, about half an hour.

So you see where my Fixation o' the Day has risen from...this portion, this allotment of time. It isn't even a complete measure...no. By its' own admission, it is only half of the full, and no more. There seems, though, to be some pride taken in that. Then again, perhaps it is only my imagination.

Regardless, these half hours, these thirty minute blocks, seem to have already paced off the length of my day, seem to have marched in stilted, checked strides, the fun I am to take. Half an hour. Halfanhour. One half hour following another like footprints in a muddy garden, stepping off the length of this Monday just ahead of me, in no real hurry to get there first...if at all.

Perhaps we shall arrive together at the end of the day, all these half-hours and I. Or perhaps I will come in behind them. Perhaps I shall lose them over the course of the day as they become distracted, and find something more interesting to occupy themselves with than What I Am Doing Today.

Where are they going? What will they see that I am missing? Did they, I wonder, visit Albert Einstein one moody November morning and, if so, did they accompany him the length of his day? Or did they, rather, weary of his thinking, his questioning, and wander off to see what was happening somewhere else?

The heartbeat of the clock - tick, tock, tick, tock - listen...like the sound of footfalls....it is time walking on....I think I ought to follow...

Oh, look...the writing of this piece took half an hour. Whaddya know about that, eh?

Peace ~