Time is our friend

I have had some thoughts percolating through my brain, and at last they've crystallized into a somewhat meaningful conclusion:

Old people matter.

I met someone in my demographic this summer who suggested that the reason my community was a bit lackluster compared to his was that mine just had too many old people. "Give it twenty years, and when they die off, it'll get better." 

I might not have heard him right, after all, my hearing is starting to go. I think I blinked a couple times and laughed off his idiocy with a comment about how nice it was to enjoy the old folks' slower pace and their interest in my kids when I went out shopping.

Maybe it started when I was a young adult. I worked in an assisted living center my second year of college. I loved it and hated it. Too much reality, too few reasons to want to get old; but also some great stories and a glimpse at how unique we are, even when we're old and looking rather similar. I remember traffic jams caused by all the walkers in the dining room, pill boxes that were so similar I came within millimeters of dispensing the wrong medication, and all those white fluffy heads of hair. Even their names all sounded the same to me.

But every one of them had a story. Every one of them had someone waiting for them in heaven. And each of them was unraveling here and there, like a favorite shirt getting frayed at the seams, beyond repair, but whose loving owner just couldn't let go of it yet.

This morning I got up early (early for me--before the kids were up), sneaked away from the baby, got myself and then three kids all ready and left the house by 8:40 am to take Richard to an art class.

Why does an almost-four-year-old need an art class, you ask?

Because...

He might feel left out if his older sister is getting to do all the activities. And because this child clearly has artistic talent--have you seen what he can create out of smeared yogurt on the counter?--so I need to cultivate this very early or he will never achieve his true potential as an artist. And because I need to take an annoying habit of his and turn it into something good so that I can maintain my sanity....blah, blah, blah.

But as we pulled out of the driveway and I listened to the voice mail I'd ignored earlier, I learned that his class had been canceled. Too few kids enrolled. But, but, but....and there went his future.

Since I'd already packed an entire day's worth of food, clothing, activities and supplies into my backpack, I decided we were not unpacking just to lose all this momentum we had going, No, we would catapult into the unknown today. 

I took the kids to a coffee shop for sweet rolls while I had my breakfast of a scone and a Hazelnut steamer and attempted to feed the baby her pureed peaches. I told the kids how lucky they were to get something with frosting before noon. They reluctantly set aside the toys they'd discovered and sat down to indulge in...frosting. That's all they wanted. Admittedly, I bought the day-old rolls because they were half-price, but after a moment or two in the microwave, who could tell the difference?

So I pulled out from my bottomless backpack a clean ziplock and saved the sweet rolls from getting tossed in the garbage. They got tossed, instead, into the churning mess in my backpack where they probably expected to be forgotten until their tastiness was gone. 

Lucky for them, I knew their worth. After our walk through old town (an area we'd never walked through before) and surviving two hours in the library, I treated myself to one of those rolls. And after managing several interchanges of children in a carpool, play date and mom date, I treated myself to the other. Richard sat next to me and smeared yogurt on the counter. That devil of an artist.

But what a treat to have this sweet roll! I puzzled over the ingredients. Did they have potato flakes in them? Did they sneak nutmeg into the dough? So good. Even the remaining hint of frosting spoke of cream cheese and real vanilla.

The other day I started a post that I didn't get to finish. It has a part to play here.

Signed my daughter in late for school today (again) and wondered what to put under "Reason."

Hmmm....

"When nature calls, it can't leave a message" just about covers it. I was glad she took the "call" (we've had struggles with this one), but it turned out to be more than a quick call. The day before we were almost late because my son put the call on hold, and it did leave a message, just as we were walking out the door for kindergarten. After changing everything below his waist, I thought, "Well, at least we're running late for an obvious reason. Most of the time I really have no idea how it happened that we're late again."

I did some thinking and sort of watched myself move through my house. I used to be able to walk from one side of my house to the other in a few deliberate strides. Now as I walk from the kitchen to the bathroom, I make about a dozen stops, take some detours, nearly derail, and finally arrive at the bathroom all in a huff that I never get time to do what I want to do, even if it's just 30 seconds in my own space with a door closed.

Anyway, I realized that the real reason I'm often running behind is that I'm trying to live my entire life RIGHT NOW. I want to have a clean home, a limber back, two potty-trained children, a happy baby, nutritious (and home-cooked) meals, resurrected thrift finds, a well-packed outings bag, the laundry done, the paper piles all sorted and photos taken of all our happy memories BEFORE I leave the house. 

I want the frosting. I want the delicious "ZING!" straight to my brain that says, "Yep, you've succeeded." I want that frosting before noon, and I don't care how it gets to me since I'm just going to discard the vehicle it came in anyway.

One of the main ingredients in a sweet roll, the one that prevents most people from making their own sweet rolls, is time. Time to shop for ingredients, time to measure out, time to allow the dough to rise, time to roll out and smear, sprinkle and roll up. Time to bake, time to cool just enough. Time to enjoy. 

And in a world where we complain that we just don't have enough time, in reality, we have time all around us if we will only see it. 

Time in faces that are wrinkled, in hair gone white, and in bodies stooped with age. Time in voices that are fading, words that can save us from ourselves, and hands that can still warm us. 

I teach my children to adore old people. They are the sweet rolls that have given us the chance to have frosting. I hope my kids come to appreciate that life is meant to take a long time, that time is a friend who teaches us, not an assailant we must fear or a competitor who never lets us win. The perfect moments that say "Yep, you've succeeded" happen when we can say that today it is enough just to be with you.

We younger generations think we know how valuable time is because we never seem to have enough of it. But the more my kids and I interact with old people, the more I realize why I have time, what it is we're creating. This morning after my perfectly scheduled day derailed, it eventually turned into a glorious walk toward springtime with three delighted children. I paused with my oldest and told her, "This is the perfect moment, the perfect day. I am so happy we're here together." I didn't even need to take a photo of this memory. And with that we added another ingredient to our sweet rolls.