Time, Tides, and the Really Important Things

 

Copyright © 2022

By Ralph F. Couey

Sixteen years ago, I wrote the first piece of this blog, an essay about Ben Rothlesberger's motorcycle accident.  Ben was new to motorcycles and some misguided salesman sold him a Suzuki Hayabusa, a 1300 cc rocket ship, and at that time was the fastest production motorcycle in the world with a top speed of 194 mph.  Predictably, within a month of that purchase, Ben was speeding, lost control, wrecked the bike and very nearly ended his life.  

Since that initial effort, the blog has grown to 833 posts, many of them newspaper columns that were published in various newspapers across the country.  So much of what I wrote involved the recounting of everyday experiences with just a bit of a twist.  Even when committed to writing as many as three per week, I never lacked for subjects.  It seemed that in my daily slog through life, there was plenty of interesting things to write about.  Of course, that was when "normal" existed.

After reviewing my work over the past five years, I realized that my writing reflected the mood I was in, usually dim, dark, and depressing.  Recently, I made myself a promise that I would seek out subjects which were, at the least, neutral, if not uplifting.  I recognize that the Pandemic affected me in ways which were not necessarily healthy, along with several million other people who suffered various forms of depression while isolated behind walls and masks.

Now that the last of the mask mandates have been lifted, that of air travel, it would seem that "normal" is making a comeback.  And not a day too soon.  Next month, Cheryl and I are taking a real-life vacation, three glorious weeks with some of our grandchildren in Virginia who are suffering a tragic lack of spoiling.  The instigation of this journey began one day when Facebook, as they are wont to do, re-posted a video of our oldest granddaughter at age three or four singing a Christmas carol at church.  It's an inspiring thing to watch, as she belts out the song loudly and confidently with absolutely not a shred of self-consciousness.  When we realized that that darling little girl would be driving soon, we decided we had to go.  

Children are precious things.  The days of their youth seem long, but pass all to quickly.  The pictures and videos helpfully posted by their Mom made it all too clear that we were missing the best part of their lives, those pre- and early-teen years when their joy and innocence remains utterly free of cynicism.  While it was a sense of filial duty to Cheryl's aging mother that brought us here to Hawai'i, we are all too aware of the ocean and continent that separate us from all ten grandkids.  

Time passes quickly as one reaches their 60's.  For reasons which remain mysterious, a day, a week, a month, even a year represents an increasingly smaller fraction of life, and therefore seems to fly by.  Sometimes that's good, like when you're enduring something like a root canal.  But mainly, I have become a bit more frantic because the vehicle I'm in is flying down the road of life at increasing speed, and will not stop or even slow.  And yes, I know how that particular trip ends.

In the months after 9/11, through my interactions with the families of those brave souls of Flight 93, I grew to understand and appreciate what a precious and special thing life is, especially where our personal relationships are concerned.  Those loved ones, as well as the ones in the two towers, four planes, and the Pentagon, experienced a loss that could only be described as a deep stabbing pain in the heart.  One day they were together.  The next day...  I understood that tomorrow is promised to no one, and that life is by definition unpredictable and uncontrollable.  It was important then, as well as now, to cherish the relationships in my life, not just family, but friends and acquaintances.  I started taking the time to look -- really look at the world around me.  

In the five years I spent trekking the Appalachian Trail, I took the time to see the wildflowers, hear the wind through the trees, listen to the chorus of birdsong, and wonder at my encounters with the wildlife teeming in those forests.  When riding in the car (not driving) instead of looking out through the windshield, I spent my team looking out the side of the car, watching the world go by.  

I still do that, event though we are ever busy.  When I running early on my commute to work, I take a few minutes to stop at an overlook on Diamond Head Road, get out of the car, and look out at the sea.  Sometimes I think, but most times I just take in the view.  I ponder the fact that looking south from that place, the sea remains clear and unbroken all the way to Antarctica, distant some seven thousand very empty miles.  It helps, I think to take the long view from time to time.  It helps me put my own difficulties in a smaller, more endurable context.  I also take more time to look up at the stars in the sky and wonder at the incredible vastness of this universe of which I am such a microscopic part.

I guess that describes my life these days, pondering imponderables.  But grandkids are finite, tangible, full of life.  One of the greatest sources of joy there is.  In those three weeks, we will be busy, because they are busy, living life at the breakneck speeds only kids can attain.  But we will immerse ourselves in them, and they will share life with us, and we will be filled to overflowing.  They make us relevant and needed.  We will never tire of them.

I only hope they never tire of us.