Time like an ever flowing stream bears all it’s sons away, it flies forgotten as a dream, dies at the opening day.
While sitting around the dining table recently, we discussed the relative nature of time. You know, how summer vacation weeks go so quickly, and school weeks drag on. I proposed time actually does move differently for different people and situations. You see, the theory of relativity is just that. We don’t really know if there is an objective conversion point where stuff becomes energy if it moves fast enough. So time may actually be influenced by our perception of it. The week before Christmas actually is longer for the child itching to rip off wrapping paper, than for the parent scrambling to get every thing done. And while the school day seems interminable for the kid in school, it’s not near long enough for the mom to squeeze in all her errands.
With that phrase, Isaac decided I had gone off my nut.
Think about it, time imposes parameters beyond our perceptions. God made time, it’s His creature, just like a rock or person. And will, like all things, be disposed of in the end. It does move on within our realm. So it’s like this. God controls time and time controls us. We can’t stop it, it’s relentless, and so we must use it wisely as we would any limited commodity.
I’ve decided to finally buckle down and write about my dad. Why? To extend his artistic influence a tad longer, and transfer a bit of him onto our kids and their cousins. Secondly, at this time, because my resources are diminishing. Mom’s mind is failing, dad’s colleagues are growing older, and printed materials are disappearing.
If you visited our house today, you’d see eleven book boxes in the living room, dragged down from the attic. Art books, catalogs, and papers in piles, computer printouts neatly laid out on the radiator, and two pages of actual rough draft. The task at hand is to accurately condense a man into words and photos on a page. I’ll keep you posted how it works out.