What Time is This?

Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is? Does Anybody Really Care?
- from a good song by one of my hometown groups, Chicago. Oh, how I loved the trumpet section...back in the days when I played coronet.

This is dad's watch. It's set to London time. He bought it on the streets of New York almost ten years ago. He said he'd never replaced the battery. Go figure.

He left the watch on his nightstand when he went to hospital the last time. I carried it home in the chest pocket of my jacket. I forgot it was there for a couple of weeks until I put it on one Saturday.

What is time? A marker, like a road sign? No...too static. A noun? It's very active...time is too short. Or too slow. Or too long. Time flies. Time passes. Time idles. What is time? We always want more of it...can never find enough of it...wonder where it went....

Allen and I must have bought dad a few watches in his lifetime. But this was the one that stuck. This sidewalk bought, $5 Casio with the battery that has never stopped. Nothing personal. Not a gift. No meaning. No intent. But it's the one that stuck. And it's still going.

"Time keeps on ticking, ticking, ticking...into the future"

Twas the Day Before Christmas and...

...where is the joy? What are you supposed to feel during the holiday?

Yesterday I must have spent about 2 hours walking around the neighborhood doing errands: dropping off cards at the post office, looking for fresh basil, picking up packages, finding Hanukkah paper....

Through it all I could feel myself going through the motions. I tried humming holiday tunes in my head, taking deep breaths of frigid air, kicking chunks of icy snow...but something was missing.
It was joy. This year I am missing joy. That stuff that makes me all excited when I pick up boxes at the mailbox. That makes me sit in front of "How the Grinch Stole Xmas" and sing along (instead, I went into the kitchen to bake). The joy that wakes me up early and keeps me up late (in bed by 9:30pm). The joy that makes me count the hours until Christmas morning and plan the hours afterward so I have plenty of time to read my books!

I feel like I'm experiencing Christmas through someone else's eyes. I just can't find the emotional connect. Not that I don't cry...oh, I'm doing that. Or that I'm not angry...it doesn't take much to set me off and big time! But the joy? Nada.

Living the Dash

We're Born - We Die. How do we live the dash?

The dash is all the time between when we are born and when we die. The other week, Fr. Murphy asked us how we live the dash. Do we make our time worthwhile: for ourselves and for others? Do we waste the time we're given?

And how do you live the dash when you are watching someone you love approaching death? Are we less attentive or more? Less authentic or more? Do we slow down when the one we love is approaching the end of the dash? Or do we stay the course, because we are still living the dash, even when those we love are nearing the end?

There's a lot of life to live in the dash, God willing. Living the dash.

How Do You Prepare for the Inevitable?

When you know that a parent is going to die - how do you prepare?

• What is the "right" thing to do: death-watch vigil or keep moving?
• Say everything and bare your soul, even when you've never talked that way to your parent before? Or keep living your 'real' relationship, warts and all
• Continuousl play out the final days in your head so you can live it like in the movies? Or just live it as it really happens?

Do you cry...laught...sing...pray...curse...love...lash out...make love...rage...write...retreat...dance...drink...sleep...sob...think..?

Do you blame everyone and everything...doctors... siblings... stress...your parent...food additives...yourself...fate...God?

When you're an orphan, whose fridge do you hang your report card on?

Do we still continue to make our parent(s) proud?

Remember when you were little and got a good report card? Or a good grade on a test? Mom used to hang our simple stories of success on the fridge.


As I got older and became a young adult, the days of report cards and tests past and were replaced by performance reviews. I always sent mom a copy. Silly, huh? But I lived to make them proud. I worked to make them proud. I wanted them to be proud of me...the person they raised.


Do I continue to make my parents proud? Or do I do it only for myself?

Sometimes I Forget You're Not There

Do you ever forget he's dead?

Sometimes my mind jumps to an idea and I think, "oh, dad would enjoy that," or "we should take dad to see...." Then I remember. There is no dad. And I feel very sad.

Sometimes I see him. A quick glance up or coming around the corner...And a half a heart-beat later I remember he is gone. And I miss him.

This is typically the week we would be starting to get ready for dad's visit. This weekend I found myself strolling through the house thinking that I needed to get the guest towel rack out for dad...and before I complete the thought I remember he won't be back. And I feel relieved.