Ahhhh Sunday. Can anyone say there is a better time of the year than early August in New England? I think not. It’s an easy day, a few chores in the lawn, a few blogs, a few articles to read, and some errands to run but no rush for anything.
When I was at my parent’s house a few weeks ago, spending a Sunday morning having breakfast on the porch, I remembered back to when I was only about five years old, living in this same old house. My parents were out of town and my sisters and I had two babysitters who were staying with us. In the hazy gossamer of decades ago, I still recall how big our lawn felt, a rolling long length of green, and the sensation of just sitting there in the sun, with the cicadas making their buzzing sound in the distance.
Thinking back to what was it, forty-four years ago, yet today when I hear this same sound of the cicadas in the woods, it brings me to that old gauzy memory of sitting in that same lawn surrounded by my sisters and our babysitting couple. It is clear, yet faded, and comes back to me often.
Time is fleeting and cruel, even though we can remember back so far in the past, it doesn’t seem like it was four decades ago that I was a blond-headed youngster. My dad once told me that now, when he is old, he still feels like he is still a teenager. I guess that’s the way of mankind; we feel young even though our hair is falling out and I have a granddaughter on the way.
The continuum moves on. My daughter Kate and Francisco are expecting a little girl in early 2009, and my aged Uncle and Aunt have moved to South Deerfield to live near their sons. Time pushes on, whether we like it or not, so we might as well listen to the cicadas and make lemonade.
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