Category Archives: Searching for Wisdom

personal growth stories

In Memoriam/ A Thank You

I’ve been celebrating Memorial Day for over half a century, but I only had a vague idea of what it is. Today I got curious and went to my two trusted friends, Google and Wikipedia, to find out. The American Memorial Day, the final Monday of May, remembers the men and women who died while serving their country. These people paid the ultimate price. Tragically, their footsteps are still being followed today. Over 2000 service people have been killed in the Afghanistan War. If I read correctly, more than double that amount have committed suicide. What is that saying? That war leads not only to death, but to despair?

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I remember when I was a kid, our dad would walk us up to Lake View Cemetery near Volunteer Park in Seattle. We would then go to a smaller cemetery, which I just read on Goggle was a military cemetery, the Grand Army of the Republic Cemetery.

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I haven’t thought of this for years, but now I am picturing my dad standing at graves, reading the headstones and bowing his head in respect. He’d be jovial on the walk up to the cemetery, but melancholy on the way back home. What a wonderful role model he was, even in small ways. He taught us to honor the dead, not be afraid of them.

Yesterday at the grocery store, there was a table set up where you could leave items to donate to Armed Service people. I bought two packs of disposable razors. When I went up to the table to leave them, I saw at least two dozen lip balms. It wasn’t until I was home that I thought: What, our U.S. service people don’t have enough personal items? They are provided for so poorly or paid so little, that they can’t afford Q-tips?  The Defense Budget is so huge, but the Armed Services personnel need to ask the public for donations? Even an English major can see that something is out of whack.

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I sat down two hours ago to write something light and inspirational about Memorial Day. I was going to talk about my mother’s coleslaw and my dad’s bacon-wrapped hotdogs. But I didn’t want the day to go by without focusing on its meaning. Still, I am surprised at how dark my thoughts have become. Sometimes I think that we have come so far, but then I realize the world’s reality is not far removed from the biblical dictates of an “Eye for an eye”. Do we never learn from history that war’s brutality is dehumanizing?

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But again, my intention today was not to come from a Peacenik perspective. You can’t sit back and let the bullies of the planet take over. And on Memorial Day, I want to honor those who protected me before and those who protect me now. That’s what is important. Our cousin, who served in Kuwait, introduced us to an organization, Children of Fallen Patriots, which seeks to help families of the heroes left behind. I am grateful we can add our assistance, and honor the men and women who gave their lives so we can live in safety…and barbecue this afternoon.

We Must Learn To Get Along

“In today’s interconnected and globalized world, it is now commonplace for people of dissimilar world views, faiths and races to live side by side. It is a matter of great urgency, therefore, that we find ways to cooperate with one another in a spirit of mutual acceptance and respect.”

The Dali Lama in India today.

The Dali Lama in India today.

This was the Facebook post of the Dali Lama on April 22. (Yes, Virginia, the Dali Lama has a Facebook page.) The Dali Lama is expanding on what Rodney King said so many years ago, “Can’t we all just get along?” It may be hard to believe that these two men from such different backgrounds and cultures would basically think alike. Yet Rodney King, so troubled in so many ways, had a deeper wisdom that transcended his everyday struggle. He knew a fundamental truth: live and let live.

The Dali Lama is saying that we are going to be more challenged than ever. We used to live in small tribes, then small villages, then small towns. Many people never left their birthplaces. No one new moved in next door. Everyone followed the same religion, same doctrines, same leader. But we are truly a global world now. The complexity of our lives is growing. We are no longer isolated on the north American continent. What happens in Syria affects what happens on Main Street, USA.

The people who frighten me the most are the zealots. They BELIEVE they are right. They BELIEVE their God is leading them to do what is best for the world. They BELIEVE that those who don’t share their belief are evil and should be eradicated. To them, there is only one way. To reach their goal, all ends justify the means. Just ask the Tsarnaev boys. I’ve been reading about youth who are being radicalized. It is so easy now, the experts say. The leaders only have to go on You Tube to spread their message. Or Twitter or Facebook to connect.

They stood among people that they would slaughter.

They stood among people that they would slaughter.

Which brings me back to the Dali Lama. I hold him up as a positive influence. I see him as a man of wisdom and spiritual connectedness. I am sure there are many who would disagree (the Chinese government for one?). I like to hear what he has to say, and to see his very human reaction to things. I feel he personifies goodness and what is best in humankind. That is who I am. I am also someone who believes that what is yours is yours. I don’t want you to take what is mine, but I certainly won’t be trying to steal yours. And I doubt I would be protecting mine with a gun.

Which leads my meandering mind to the idea of universal background checks for gun buyers. I’m not asking to take my neighbor’s gun away (shudder, shudder) but I feel it’s reasonable to require background checks for gun purchasers, at the least. Not everyone is a responsible citizen. Not everyone is sane. Not everyone is thinking that life is precious.

But it is. Life is precious. I know that.

BETTER SAFER THAN SORRIER

I hate to be a worrywart, but I am, always have been and probably always will be. One of the things that has bothered me for a while is cell phones. For years I’ve heard talk about the potential danger. Was it an urban legend that they were causing brain tumors or was it truth?

I will say that I’ve been called a Henny Penny (the sky is falling girl) Henny_penny

and a Nervous Nelly many times in my life. And it’s not an unwarranted slur. My mind just naturally goes to “what if the half full or empty glass falls off the counter and crashes onto the kitchen floor, shattering and slicing into the femoral artery of my nearest and dearest? What if the row boat sinks in the middle of the lake? What if the man who has locked himself in the lavoratory on my airplane is really a terrorist who has brought many tiny bottles onto the airplane and is now assembling them into a liquid nitrogen bomb? I am a writer, for goodness sake. I can’t help it if I have an overactive imagination.

I had a few extra minutes this morning as I woke up an hour before I needed to get up. (I’m not sure why, but it could have been the wind that was screeching around our doors and windows like banshees on the prowl.) With the extra time, I decided to check out Dr. Oz’s article: Dr. Oz: “5 Health Risks I Won’t Take—and Neither Should You”

 

Read more: http://www.oprah.com/health/Health-Risks-to-Avoid-Dr-Oz-on-Health-Hazards/3#ixzz2Q18aRKrS.

The first risk to avoid is Triclosan in your toothpaste, Dr. Oz advises. I immediately went into the bathroom. Geez, I tried to read the label on my toothpaste tube—it’s so small that it’s unreadable. I decided to forgo my brushing until I got a magnifying glass. Gingivitis is a small price to pay to avoid a potential carcinogen.

Advice Number 3 deals with cell phones…I knew it! Read the following and take heed.

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“Science says: Cell phones emit radio frequency (RF) energy, a type of radiation deemed “possibly carcinogenic” by the International Agency for Research on Cancer. Unlike the radiation from a CT scan, RF energy isn’t strong enough to break DNA bonds, but the tissues near the ear you use when you’re on the phone can absorb it. Some research suggests that this could slightly increase your risk of developing brain tumors, but at least two studies that looked at brain tumor incidence among people who used cell phones regularly for ten years or more found no connection. While such news is reassuring, the medical community believes it’s difficult to know the health consequences of cell phone use until longer-term studies are done. 

For safety’s sake: Avoid keeping the phone pressed up against your ear; I use the speaker phone or a hands-free headset to reduce my RF exposure. Whenever possible, I also wait until I have strong cell phone reception to make calls; the weaker the signal, the more RF energy the phone emits to keep calls from dropping. At night, don’t sleep with your phone right next to your bed—it still releases RF when it’s transmitting data as you get pinged with e-mails and texts.”

OMG! I knew it! I told my kids, but would they believe me? Of course not; I’ve been giving out dire warnings for years. But they should listen. Even I can’t be wrong all the time.

The Only Way to Heal is to DO SOMETHING!!!

I got an email from David Axelrod this evening, which I thought was very nice. He addressed me as Cindy so I assume we’re kind of chummy. He seems like a good guy so I decided to write him back:

Dear David Axelrod,

I was so proud of the way our President interacted with the bereaved of Newtown. (I want to say my President, but that would be petty politics and it’s more important that we are united as Americans because of this tragedy.) Our president was the consoling leader we all needed to hear. He spoke as a leader, but also as a father and a human. His sincerity reached my heart.
The killer certainly was bi-partisan in his actions. He didn’t stop to ask each child, “Are you a Republican? Are you a Democrat?” No, he didn’t discriminate at all. He killed innocent adults,  and he killed children who were so young that their smiles were filled with missing teeth. They will never grow up to have them.
The sense of loss lingers over all of us.
Now, I hope we can create change. Having 9 guns in a household, seems excessive. Having automatic weapons seems overkill–truly. It’s not only gun control. As the sibling of a mentally ill man, there were times we feared for our lives, and could not legally get him hospitalized. He was out there, on the streets, a walking time bomb. We were helpless and we were afraid–sometimes for our lives; sometimes for strangers’. And what about the increasing violence in video games and movies? Death becomes a game, and the winner is the one with the most kills. Or the heroines or heroes in movies take lives indiscriminately. There is no moral questions asked. Does these breed a killer society?

Can we make change, sir?
I hope so.

And I wish you a happy holiday, as well.
Cindy

A Brave New World

I think when I was born there had been a lot of things invented fifty years before and they worked pretty much the same by the time I came around. That probably doesn’t make much sense, but it was a thought that I regurgitated instantly from my head. Here’s where it came from in a convoluted way.

I just saw an ad for a Blue Tooth gadget. (What’s really scary is that I really just saw it—maybe five minutes ago—and have no idea what it was for and where I was on the Web to see it. Ah, this getting older is just sublime.) What struck me was how commonplace the ad was—that we naturally expect that a device only developed at the end of the 20th century would be able to provide us with such service. It made me realize I treat the electronics in my life as if they are a television or a toaster oven. As if they are an appliance to make my life more comfortable—and an appliance that has been tested over time to perform with safety and efficiency. I don’t think that’s the case.

Look at the new iPhone. My husband has always been a gadget guy—we had the first Betamax in the neighborhood—so he bought the new phone. I’m not sure it was ready for purchase. There are kinks that need to be worked out, and what’s with the new plug size? Now we have to buy new charger units and can’t do a cross over. Does Apple thinks I’m a slave to their newest whim? Enough already!

What was wrong with this cable connector?

I really didn’t like the new phone until this past Friday. I was taking a walk in Rancho Mirage, talking to my daughter in Seattle.

“Do you want to Facetime?” she asked.

“How can we do that? I’m taking a walk.”

“We both have the iPhone 5 so we can Facetime from anywhere,” she explained.

Within minutes, I was walking and watching my ten-month-old granddaughter sorting Tupperware in her mother’s kitchen. Even my daughter was blown away.

“Okay, now we’re talking Technology,” she said.

“It’s finally Dick Tracy come to life,” I agreed.

I don’t even pretend to understand the technology that made this miracle happen. I don’t want to know it. I trust that the Apple engineers know what they’re doing—hopefully. And I trust that the product was market ready. Or do I? Remember when microwaves were introduced into our kitchens? I had mine installed up high so we wouldn’t get microwave poisoned. I still think about it sometimes, even though microwaves have been standard for years. And I do wonder about the radiation coming from our phones. I don’t like seeing my kids and grandkids carrying their phones in their pockets.

Wow. Re-reading that, I sound like someone who should be sitting in a rocking chair with an afghan over my knees. Truth be told, I guess I AM a little cautious about these new fangled contraptions….

 

 

 

True Confessions

This is going to be a confession of sorts—or an admission, at the least. First, though, a disclaimer. This blog is not about politics even if it is about Barack Obama. I don’t know about you, but I am sick of politics, politicians and Talking Heads—especially the Talking Heads. This blog is about me—about who I was in 1967 and who I am now.

The President of the United States.

When I began teaching in Seattle’s inner city, I’d just turned 21 three days before. I admit I was a wide-eyed optimist who believed I could help change the world. No, at 21 I was sure I could. I wasn’t alone in my mission to right the wrongs of America. The Late Sixties was the beginning of a cultural revolution that would shake up our society. My way was not to protest in the streets. I chose to work within the system. I believed education was the key to getting people out of the Ghetto.

1970–my last day teaching at Meany. I was seven months pregnant–in those days you were supposed to quit by six months!

Teaching at Meany Junior High during this time was an education for me, as well as for the students. When I walked in the doors as a teacher, only six years had passed since I’d left for high school. Many of the same teachers and administrators remained there. The intimidating Miss MacPherson was the librarian, and I was still afraid of her. The curriculum, too, was the same—but as Bob Dylan pointed out, “it was the times they are a changing”. And changing at warp speed. Within two years, most of the former teachers were gone, and the old texts were replaced with books that attempted to be more relevant. Rather than teaching Shakespeare, I’d be happy if I could get some students to write their name on a piece of paper.

My personal goal was to be the best teacher I could be. I wanted to reach each student—to teach them the fundamentals of English and also the love of learning. I had another agenda, as well. I wanted every student in my classes to know that he or she could succeed. That the chains of poverty and racial prejudice could be broken—yes, that even an African American could be President of the United States. (The idea that it could be a woman probably didn’t even occur to me.)

Fast forward thirty-eight years. Barack Obama is running for President. Our country was at war. There was in a financial melt-down. And the Republicans couldn’t stop the bleeding. I voted for Obama because I thought we needed change, and I didn’t think McCain could do the job. I was elated when Obama won. I didn’t expect him to create prosperity out of chaos, but I knew he’d do a good job. But also, on a personal level, I was thrilled. Even though those years were hard, I thought, we did accomplish something during the Civil Rights struggle. Our work was validated, and I felt pride that Americans had moved beyond past prejudice and stereotypes. Again I was naïve.

Four years later, I’ve seen the proof of the hatred and disdain many whites still have for people of color. At first I’d attributed the antipathy to Obama as a desire to get even by the Republicans who had been humiliated by McCain’s drubbing. But then I began receiving emails that hinted at something more. It started with assertions that Obama, the socialist slime, wasn’t really an American. Then the racial overtones became more overt. My idealistic notions took a dive. Last week, John Sununu’s remarks actually made me cry. He felt he could disparage Colin Powell on national television and get away with it—that Americans would be willing participants in racial profiling of this man who has served his country in war and in peace. I felt so disheartened.

But I am in my sixties—I can’t be the girl of the Sixties. I took my dog for a walk and calmed down. I reminded myself that our society has moved forward in many ways, that pettiness is part of human nature as is Xenophobia. We aren’t perfect and never will be. But I felt I couldn’t be silent—that I had to share my real feelings.

Again, I reiterate that I am sick of politics. I felt sad today that it was news when Bill Clinton said that President Obama “has been a good commander-in-chief without regard to race.” Or maybe I should feel good that he just put it out in the open. I don’t know. My HOPE this year is the politicians will get over themselves and start working for the welfare of our nation instead of their party. Bi-partisanship. Now that’s a word I’d like to hear more often. (Okay, so I’m still an idealist. What can I do?)

Bi-partisanship in action.

Forever Young?

I think one of the challenges of being in my sixties is to know my limitations but not let them limit me. This has become a kind of mantra. I used to say: “accept my limitations” but I’ve refined the concept to include ‘knowing’. I don’t want society or an individual defining me or my ability or limitations. I won’t accept their perception of what a senior citizen can or cannot do. Neither do I want to be an idiot and push myself beyond my capacity. Been there, done that and am writing the book about driving with a cast on my foot. (Trust me, don’t try it! Thank goodness, when I did I was on a deserted street.)

At my age, you do realize you can only push your body so much and it will push back. Hence, the knee, hip, shoulder replacement docs are doing a booming business. When I go to the gym and see guys lifting massive weights with so much effort that their faces are contorted, I foresee a future for them of contorted limbs. I know I need to respect my own limbs better than I have.

Aging is not something my generation is accepting gracefully. We’re the “forever young” babyboomers, dontcha know? But I don’t want to block enjoying and understanding this part of my life, even if the United States of America categorizes aging as a disease. I basically feel healthy and vibrant, brimming with vitality, especially if I get that catnap every day! I think most people my age do feel great,  although we’re portrayed quite differently in the media. Madison Avenue would have me wearing a LIFE ALERT in case I fall and can’t get up.

Here’s what sixtish looks like.

Self knowledge is important to me. I want to know who I am, what I want in life, where I’m going. In order to do that, I need to get quiet, which I find increasingly hard to do. It’s so easy now, being IPhone addicted, to never have a conversation with myself. Even on a walk alone, I can call my friend in Minnesota and talk the whole time, like I did today. Or in the car, I can talk or listen to music or a book. I never turn off so that I can tune in to my inner voice.

The other day I took a gym class that I thought might lead me to some inner reflection. It was called the Warrior Within. I saw that it combined Tai Chi, Yoga and meditation. I didn’t read the fine print, which explained the class featured the BOSU. Heck, I didn’t even know what a BOSU was. When I saw that little half-dome, it looked innocuous enough, and I liked the blue color. I thought, how bad could it be? I didn’t know that some sadist had created the disstablizer from hell.

BOSU Batterer.

We had to stand on it, which was not easy. Then we were expected to move on it and do a sun salutation while keeping our balance. We had to kneel on it and do leg lifts, turn over and do crunches. There was only me in the class and a guy who looked like he was in mid-forties. Damn, I wanted to quit, but my pride wouldn’t let me. I forged on, becoming the Little Engine that could—even if it was killing me.

Look at the biceps on these guys. Sheesh!!!

One of my inner voices said, “It is good to try new things. It is good to be challenged.” Another voice cussed that one out. I said aloud, “Are you kidding me?” The only good thing was that time, which normally flies by, slowed down to the point that each minute lasted at least ninety seconds.

So what did I learn about myself: I’m getting old? I have terrible balance? I don’t know when or how to quit? I can do more than I thought I could? I’m not sure what I learned. I’ll have to get back to you on that.

Age is Just A Number

Getting older. It’s not something baby boomers do gracefully. We, after all, were the generation who wouldn’t trust anyone over 30—let alone 60. As we come up to that magical Medicare age, it’s not only been a shock to many people’s system, but I have seen an attitude of fear—fear that’s it’s all over and that Death, with a CAPITAL D, is lurking on their doorstep.

Last year on his birthday, my husband seriously said that if he’d known he was going to live this long, he’d have taken better care of himself. He had no idea he was quoting Mickey Mantle—in his family, all the men die of heart attacks in their fifties so he figured he would too. But because of modern medicine and living close to Eisenhower Hospital’s ER, he had his heart attack and survived. So he could live to be a hundred.

The Birthday Boy.

A lot of people are doing that—living to a hundred and living quite nicely. I am playing Words With Friends with Marvin who turned 100 last May. Being a former English teacher and a writer, I am good at this game. Marvin is not only a worthy opponent, he’s giving me a run for my money. And he writes me witty messages, too.

Words With Friends game.

His wife, Rose, will be 100 soon. I’m not saying that they don’t have health issues—they do. But they also have all their marbles and still know how to play. Here they are with their daughter, Barbara.

 

My friend Earl’s dad just turned 99. He pays his own bills and balances his checkbook. When asked what the secret was to his longevity, he said, “It’s all about family. And if need anything, I call my wonderful son.” He paused, “And then there are my nine different doctors and about 6000 pills.”

He obviously has a great sense of humor and a great sense of center, as well. I think that’s a clue to living long. My dad was that way too. I remember once admonishing him about eating pastrami when he was 91. He looked up at me from his sandwich and asked, “What, if I eat this, I won’t live to an old age?”

 

A colleague and I taught a memoir writing class to a group of assisted living folks in Seattle last winter. We had no idea who would take the class, but the youngest to show up was 94. You would never have guessed their ages—they looked to be in their eighties, but most were 96 to 98—and excellent writers, too. Getting to share their memories was like history coming to life, and we didn’t need to do much editing.

David’s birth date is February 7, 1916. Does he look 96?

I have a lot of friends bumping up to the end of the sixties and hitting the big 70. They are in a panic. Many feel that a respirator and walker can’t be far off in their future. Their five-year plan is to cross their fingers and hope they’re still alive. Not good. Studies have shown that you are as old as you think you are. If you think that 80 is old—then that’s when you’ll get old. I’m thinking middle 90’s, myself. As I told my kids, count me in when it’s 2050.

 

 

Teaching in the Sixties, One Regret

I don’t really regret much in my life. I’ve always believed I had a strong moral compass that led me in the right direction. And I almost always try to do the right thing. But today, my confidence in the belief that I have known what the right thing is was shaken.

I was in my workout class doing crunches to the Marcels singing Blue Moon when I was hit with a hammer of regret. I remembered back to the late Sixties when I was Talent Show director at Meany Junior High in Seattle.

 

Meany Middle School location.

It was a crazy time period—rapid social change fueled by good intention and bad, resulting in a lot of chaos. Just doing a talent show was unusual. Some of the kids had gotten up acts lip-syncing to the music of that era.

“No,” I said. “Lip syncing is not a talent. You have to sing the song with your own voices. Then you can be in the talent show.”

What stupidity on my part! Now I know it would have been so beneficial for these kids to just have participated in a show. So what if they lip-synced (ask Madonna, etc.)? They would have had fun doing something positive in school.

But, oh, no! Judgmental little twenty-one-year-old me showed them the door. Was “True Art” so almighty important to me?

I don’t remember the acts that were in the show. I do remember that my husband came, and he was one of the only people to stand for the flag salute. And roving bands of kids overturned a lot of cars in the parking lot. (Ours was untouched so I don’t think it was a Lip-Sync Vendetta.) It was just that kind of era.

I was pretty rigid in my standards back then. Things were right or things were wrong—black or white. I hadn’t had the life experiences to know that there are many shades of gray having validity. I gained some of that insight in the next few years. By the time I left teaching at Meany, there weren’t talent shows anymore. Instead there were lock-downs and riots, and kids coming to class stoned. I was happy if I could get people to just put their name in the top left-hand corner of the paper. I was grateful that the Obey Tate decided to pull his gun on Mr. Wilson’s class instead of mine the next period. (Funny how you never forget some names.)

The Year Book.

I know I cared about my students, and believed in them. (except for the guy who scared me spit-less when he did show up. Usually he didn’t because he had taken over his brother’s job while he was in Vietnam. The brother was a pimp so Virgil worked all nighters and didn’t come to school much.) I know I wanted to teach my students how to read and write and speak. I felt these were tools to success for everyone. I still do. I know I encouraged people to think for themselves. I think I did a good job. But I do wish I’d let those kids lip-sync. My apologies to any of them reading this.

There’s a blue moon on August 31.

 

The Theory of Relativity: Time Travel

I never understood Einstein’s Theory of Relativity until I got older. Yesterday brought its relevance back in focus for me.

In the morning, I had a phone conference with a group who work for Writer’s Relief, an author’s submission service that has guided my writing into many literary magazines. It was a strategic planning meeting. I was telling them I am working on “Radio Days”, a group of stories, each featuring a radio.

“So far, the stories are mostly memoir. I’m working on one now about Bobby Kennedy being shot,” I said. “I woke up to my alarm clock radio broadcasting the news.”

There was a loud silence from the other end. I’m not sure if they were awe struck by talking to someone who was actually old enough to remember the day Bobby Kennedy was shot or they felt sympathy for me, but I felt compelled to fill the silence.

“It was a terrible time in our history. Martin Luther King had only been killed two months before. I was teaching in an inner city school in Seattle that was probably 65% African American. There’d been riots then,” I continued.

I realized that to my quiet “audience”, it was U.S. History. To me, who had lived through it, it was part of the fabric of my life. I’ve never forgotten the shock of being awakened with the words, “Bobby Kennedy has been assassinated.”

I remember going to school that day in June. I was in mourning for another of our fallen leaders. Would it ever end? Bobby Kennedy had campaigned in Seattle that March. I was downtown with my mother and we went to see him as his cavalcade drove down the street.

“What a handsome young man,” Mother said. She was usually so serious and I thought it a frivolous comment. I was going to say, “We don’t elect our leaders by their looks,” but the moment passed.

Two months later Bobby Kennedy was dead just like Martin Luther King. I expected the kids to be upset, but I was wrong. These same people who’d wanted to burn the school down when MLK was shot, didn’t really care about Bobby Kennedy. It was June—time for school to be out. Time to have fun.

Forty-four years later, I went on the Facebook Group of many of my former students. It’s weird communicating with them, seeing how they thought of me. My memories have been cemented by my perceptions. I wondered how they perceived that day in June.

Thinking about it all day, I remembered it seemed a long time period between JFK’s assassination and Bobby Kennedy’s. It was only five years. As a teenager and a twenty-two-year-old, those five years had taken me from high school to college to marriage to a teaching career. I had evolved from a child to an adult. That time period was an eon for me.

Today, five years is gone in a flash. What was I even doing five years ago? A whole season of the year seems like a month to me now. Didn’t summer just start? How can the kids be going back to school? That can’t be a yellowed leaf on the ground, can it? But it is.

So I understand the Theory of Relativity now. Time is not a constant. The seconds may tick by constantly on the Master Clock at the Greenwich Observatory in England, but it gives us only numerical data. It is life that gives Time truth.