One Foot in Front of the Other

“I’ve too much time to want more time, but I still do.  Afraid of one shining moment I might lose.  I’ve been known to run round just to see myself move.  I’ve too much time to want more time, but I still do.”  — Cosy Sheridan, “Too Much Time” from the album “Quiety Led”

Cosy’s words come to mind as I sit here looking out the window at the blessed, blessed rain.  It’s been pouring for hours and I can’t express how grateful I am.  Things have been so dry here.  We dug a new well a few years back, so I’m not too worried (yet), but I remember all-too-clearly the fear I felt the day I turned on the faucet and nothing came out, the summer our shallow-dug well went dry.  A thing like that makes you appreciate water.  A thing like that makes you careful to not take it for granted.

Thankfulness is an attitude I increasingly try to embrace, the older I get.  I wish I’d thought to when I was younger, but there you go.  When you’re young, you race around so much you barely take time to breathe, let alone think.  (One of the reasons so many of us end up in bad relationships.)  You slow down in some ways, when you’re older, take time to see the world around you and appreciate what you have.

Ed is experimenting this morning — challenging himself by making watermelon rind pickles for the very first time.  So far, so good.  The kitchen smells wonderful, that splendid mix of sweet and sour that goes into pickle-making.  I’ve seen the jars (they’re almost ready to put into the hot water bath) and the contents sure look like every watermelon pickle I’ve ever seen.

I respect him to trying this.  Too often, we all talk about things we intend to do some day, but never do.  “Some day I’m going to ________________.”  Fill in the blank.  Climb a mountain.  Travel.  Study genealogy.  Hang glide.  Learn to knit.  You name it, there’s a wish to go with it.

Too often those wishes go untried and unfulfilled.  We talk ourselves out of them, make excuses why we don’t add a little chance and risk to our lives.  We’ve no one to say “I double-dog dare you” to make us stick our tongue to the freezing cold flag pole and so we don’t.  We waste the time given to us.  We complain of boredom.  We die with regret.  “If only I had more time!”

To do what?

We have time.  We have today, right now, this instant, to go do SOMETHING!  (Remember, there are no guarantees beyond this instant.  Things happen.)   Even if it’s only a walk in the rain or talk with a loved one, it’s SOMETHING.  Are they grand and glorious adventures?  Maybe not, but at least it isn’t sitting on your ass staring at a screen (she said, sitting on her ass staring at the computer monitor.)

Yes, I’m aware of the irony.  Give me a minute to wind up, and I”m outta here.  To do what?  Well, we’re going to look at a house today, so that’s something.  And I’ve lately gotten a hankering to learn how to hook rugs, some craft thing I can do as the weather turns cold, so I plan on checking it out.  It’s one of those things I’ve been talking about for a long time just like you’ve been talking about _________________.

What are you waiting for?  Best get to it.


About Melissa Crandall

Longer ago than I care to admit--although I will--I cut my writing teeth on fanzines and media tie-in novels. Since then, I've moved on to narrative nonfiction, speculative fiction, and essays. I write to explore and understand the world around me, the things I see and experience nearby or from a distance. If I shake myself up, cool. If I shake you up, even better. Not gratuitously--what's the point in that?--but to set what I know, or think I know, on end and realize, "Well, doesn't it look different from this side!" My work is neither sexually explicit nor graphically violent. Let's face it - your imaginations will come up with things far worse than anything I could write, no matter how descriptive. Besides, it's just not my thing. I live in Connecticut with my supportive husband Ed, a cat named Ruby who might just think she's a dog, and an epileptic Australian shepherd named Holly who isn't quite certain anymore who she is, except she knows she loves her mommy.
This entry was posted in Age, Aging, Challenge, Change, Connecticut, Essays, Fear, Gratitude, Melissa Crandall, Writer, Writing and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to One Foot in Front of the Other

  1. Rhonda Shore says:

    You go girl!

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