I just got a text from Jasper. He is on his way home for a long weekend. It is the first time he has been home since winter break. He did trail work in Ashland over his spring holiday, and announced about a month ago that he put a deposit on an apartment in Corvallis for the summer. I’ve been trying to keep busy today. I swam, worked a bit, had lunch with a friend, filled the fridge with more meat and milk than it has seen since Christmas. I have girls coming over this evening, and we will head to the high school play to chew up another few hours. I simply cannot wait to have this boy in my arms again. But nothing seems to be making the clock tick any faster. This day seems to be crawling by.
Yesterday, I got the Palouse’s coolest graduation announcement from Emerald. Her (and Jim’s) beautiful blue eyes on the cover, the inside filled with pictures of her adventures and a long list of gratitude for all that have helped her navigate the last 4 years. My running partner’s daughter graduates from architecture school tomorrow. Last week we commented that it seemed like just yesterday we were running and talking about where our girls had applied and where they would be going to school. The last 4 years have just flown by.
Time is a strange phenomena. I can recall, almost verbatim, conversations I had with friends and lovers in my Lake Tahoe days, and that was in 1983-1986. Yet, I really can’t remember what the swim workout was this morning, or what the protocol is for exiting a student from my services. Why do years fly by, yet any one afternoon can seem to take forever? Why did Jim’s illness, death, and the acute grief afterwards seem like it was interminable, and yet it feels like yesterday that we danced on the grass to marimbas?Why do I feel like I’ve known Greg my whole life, and yet the only season we have seen is the slow march of a Palouse winter into a wobbly spring? And then I think of the time it takes a river to carve a canyon, and the flash that is this one wild and precious life.