But At My Back I Always Hear - Time's Winged Chariot Hurrying Near

Well, that is what the poet said - he always heard Time's rush behind him.

I don't.

I actually find Time to be mystifying on every level. I look in the mirror and see a 19 year old with a 56 year old face. I don't mind the years adding up -- I just do not understand them. I was reminded recently that I have less years ahead of me than I have behind me, and I suppose, even optimist that I am, that is true. That very fact has left me befuddled.

What is one to do about that fact? Will I have lived a wasted life if I do not have a novel published? If I do not fall madly in love again with an unbridled passion that makes the very air crackle? If I never see Portugal? If I never learn to make a decent pie crust?

I am, as I said when I began this blog, the last of my family. After I die, the name that I carry as my maiden name winks out of the universe. I have looked for it everywhere and never found it. Does that actually mean anything? I suppose I have always felt as though I should not take this name into oblivion with just a whimper. But what sort of bang makes sense? And do I have time to assemble the ingredients needed?

And who gets to judge what is or is not of value? Do we wait for some sort of heavenly after-life scorecard to be sure? Do we hope that like Jimmy Stewart in "A Wonderful Life" that before our little lights blip out that God finds a way to show us the value that we did not even imagine was there?

Or should we just plod on, getting through our days as compassionately as possible, with an ear and an eye open to possibility? I find myself humming "....the love you take, is equal to the love you make."