juxtapose - by hoboholly

Minute by Minute

April 19th 2011 02:01

Time is a curious creature. She does not flow smoothly or evenly. She ebbs, drifts, flies, soars, gallops, skips, races, idles, piddles, meanders, drags, halts, and hurries. Sixty seconds may make up a minute and sixty minutes becomes an hour, but I am here to tell you that all minutes are not created equal.

There are all different kinds of minutes. For instance—funny thing is an instant or a moment is always the same—a football minute is no sixty seconds, it's at least forty-five minutes. A minute on the treadmill is almost as long as ninety minutes waiting in line at the DMV. Fifteen minute breaks are actually a minute.

And really does anyone believe that the statement "I'll be ready in a minute" refers to actual time? I share with you a joke for the sexes . . .
Charles was getting annoyed and shouted upstairs to his wife," Hurry up or we'll be late." "Oh, be quiet," replied his wife. "Haven't I been telling you for the last hour that I'll be ready in a minute?"
'Nuff said, don't ask me again, I'll be ready when I'm ready.

Oh you can watch the clock and she will tick along smoothly "tick-tock-tick-tock". Take your eyes away from that smirking face, and time has a party. Dancing all over the place. Sometimes a waltz, sometimes a quick step.

I know this because 10 minutes ago I was in a two bedroom apartment with three babies watching "Sesame Street"... and a hundred years ago I started writing this blog.

I have learned—in the minute that I have lived on this earth—that time does not obey or respect you. She is mischievous and likes to play with you. The more you need the less she gives. The more she gives the less you need.

Life is but a "tick-tock" on the big giant clock.

Remember patience is a virtue. Unless you're the granny at the grocery store, and I'm the women behind you with the counterfeit smile, while secretly wanting to grab that "Winnie the Pooh" check out of your hand and show you what a debit card looks like, up close! Now that's virtual patience. Optimistically though, now that I'm a granny I am spending the few minutes I have left to become more patient.

The best thing time has taught me is, when she asks you to dance, don't be a wallflower. Take her hand and enjoy the promenade. When she trips you—and she will trip you—pick yourself up dust yourself off and start all over again. But take your time, she'll give you a minute to collect yourself.

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I Know You Are, But WHO Am I?

March 30th 2011 19:48

I've often heard it said that if you want to be a healthy, centered adult, you must get in touch with your inner child. I'm not sure if this means you must dive head first into the wading pool of repressed memories, or simply go nonchalantly skipping down the tulip-lined avenue. Either way, if I'm going to get in touch with my inner-imp, I would like to know what she looked like.

Unfortunately there is no tangible proof that I ever existed before the age of 12. Oh I have a whole caboodle of memories, but as far as photographs or anything resembling a keepsake from my kid-dom . . . nada, zip, zilch, diddly squat. OK, I exaggerate, there is one petite picture of my tiny self, *see below.

All I know about this frayed photo—other than the fact I'm certain it wasn't snapped by my parents—is that the brunette in the patent leather mary janes and frilly frock is my cousin. I am the blond in the corrective shoes and unisex coveralls, I can only assume were handed down from my older brother.

My parents were not the sentimental types. Not once did I hear the phrase, "get the camera, we must capture this moment for posterity." They were too busy living the moment. Albeit there was never a lack of parental love and affection in our home. Still, with tongue and cheek I often informed my mother that "I was the way I was" because there were no pictures of me to connect to my inner child.

That would not be the case with my children. I have a plethora of photos of each one. The kind of photo's that were taken with a roll of Kodak film placed meticulously inside a bulky camera. After the roll of 12 or 36 snapshots had all been taken—sometimes taking weeks or even months to accomplish—you took the roll of film to the drug store and placed it in a yellow envelope, vacillating between which box to check, glossy or matte finish. Then two short weeks later your pictures were done.

Ah, the pure joy of opening that envelope and eagerly examining each 3X4 or 4X6 photo. Bringing back to life every frozen moment. I missed many a moment trying to capture said moment, hidden behind cameras and camcorders. But I have piles of photos. All of which have yet to be labeled or scrap booked. Still, tangible proof that my children existed. So because of me they are, as of today, secure adults. Maybe.

As for my children's children, AKA my grandchildren. What kind of adults will they become? Thanks to today's one click wonders, they can relive the moment even before the moment has passed. As well as instantly sharing it with anyone and everyone. Connecting with their inner toddler, while they are still toddlers. There's no way they will be anything else but healthy centered adults. Impatient adults, but secure nonetheless.

Actually the more I think about it the more I realize that it's not the getting in touch with your inner child that makes you a happy adult. I do believe you become a much better person if you can get in touch with others. Whether old or young, dressed in frills or hand-me-down coveralls, when you lose yourself in the getting to know others, it is then you discover who you really are. No photo required.

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Oral Hygiene and Gasoline

January 21st 2011 17:54

Life is busy I get that. In a piddly 24 hours we are expected to get out of bed, shower, primp, eat breakfast, send the kids every which way, and head off to work. Not to mention, squeeze in doctor appointments, homework, grocery shopping, pick up the dry cleaning, etc. Oh did I forget to mention brush your teeth and stop to fill the tank with gas. Which I found out you can do at the same time.
Yesterday, while waiting in my car for my turn to get gas, I watched in amusement the man ahead of me. He was brushing his teeth while pumping his petro. Hey I'm all for multitasking. I read in the tub, watch the news from my elliptical, "zumba" while folding laundry. . .
But there are certain things that should be single-tasked. Like driving, mowing the lawn, anything surgical, and pumping gasoline. Just because he could doesn't mean he should. It's not hygienic. Hand-to-pump-to-mouth, no way.
I didn't see toothpaste bubbles dripping out of his mouth nor did he spit, but it was implied.
So to you mister gas-n-brush, I say take the extra 2 minutes to brush those pearly whites where they should be brushed, in the bathroom. And if you only have time for one of these tasks, do the brushing thing. Nobody likes a man with gas on his breath.

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Technology and Me

January 6th 2011 01:44

Can you imagine a world without technology? Neither can I.

Being born on the cusp of the baby boomer era I grew up when TV was transitioning from black and white to color and had no remote control. Telephones were attached to the kitchen wall and had a dial. Computers were only seen in sci-fi movies. Cameras used rolls of film that took a week to develop. Navigation systems were used exclusively by NASA. I spent my free time outside playing with friends from dawn til dusk. And it was wonderful

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