When 2023 rolled around a few weeks ago, I took some time to reflect on the just-finished 365 days of the old year. The leaps of faith I took, what worked, what didn’t. Scanning through my mind’s photo gallery, I started thinking how time can be marked not only by clocks and calendars, or the number of candles on a birthday cake, but also how much disappears, transforms, or expands.
No Longer
I thought back to Thanksgiving, remembering how many times I’ve hosted this holiday. Times when there were 25 people gathered, a cross section of generations. With every new Thanksgiving, there are one or two fewer table settings. Less demands for more wild rice or pumpkin pie. My mother is no longer at the sink, stubbornly refusing to “just sit and relax.” The vodka gimlets are less “famous” because Don isn’t mixing them up anymore.
Among my favorite Christmas decorations are the homemade “ornaments” of the 12 cats I’ve shared my life with (so far). Gazing at the furry faces as I place each picture on the tree, I’m conscious of a longing for the 10 who’ve since departed for pet heaven.
Metamorphosis
I don’t need to know exactly how old the few remaining books of my childhood are. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn; those cherished Little Golden Book stories; One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. With their tattered covers and misshapen pages, these books reveal how many hours we spent together, each one well read and well loved.
Lately, I notice greater amounts of wear on my favorite ring. The once defined ornate swirls seem to be melting into the smooth metal. I don’t remember when I bought it, but its transformation documents our long-time relationship.
Given the enormous size and the reach of its branches, the jade plant I inherited from a friend must be at least 50 years old. Most plants and flowers don’t simply disappear. Instead, they return transformed in some way, or like the jade, they keep expanding.
One Saturday, while nonchalantly sorting through some attic clutter, I found a pair of toddler-sized sandals. Pausing, I thought of my son taking his first steps. Later, placing the tiny shoes beside the size 11 sneakers he wears now, I pictured how these days, he’s taking off in his car. Was it just yesterday he was graduating from kindergarten? Starting middle school? High school? This May he’s receiving his bachelor’s degree.
When I look at my nieces and nephews, I don’t have to recall their ages to realize how time advances. Instead of putting crayon to paper or learning the alphabet, they’re now writing briefs and filing news stories. I remember reading to them when they were little. With the arrival of my niece’s son 15 months ago, the story time tradition expands to a new generation.
Chronos vs Kairos
Throughout our lives, we can count specific life events, people and places as constants over the years. But even these constants are continually evolving. Along with years, the passing of time is measured by job changes, divorces, new partnerships, grown children, grandchildren.
Finally, nature is the ultimate timekeeper. Seeing a full moon again usually tells us a new month has arrived. Even without a clock, day fading into night and night welcoming another day tells us 24 hours have gone by. The changing of the seasons, the cyclical return of cicadas, and recurring migration of birds are all accurate indicators of time indeed marching on, neither calendar nor clock needed