Accordion

I’ve described time as an accordion. (“What even is time?”) Sometimes two days stretch into an eternity and years go by in a blink. A really important friend counseled me against making maudlin anniversaries of every bad thing that ever happened. Good advice. And yet, the body keeps the score anyway. It’s been two years since we were in the hospital in Seattle for Bryan’s biopsy. The four and a half months following that were simultaneously the shortest and longest, certainly the hardest and most precious of my whole life. The nights after he passed were eternities unto themselves. And the seasons continued in their familiar patterns.

Here we are at the beginning of another one. The leaves are starting to change and the nights are getting cool. Autumn in Walla Walla promises to dazzle us in all her glory. Afternoon light at Mill Creek turns everything copper and gold. I have a vacation planned in less than a week to see my best friend and see what autumn looks like where she lives. The waiting is interminable. And the week with her will go by in a flash.

I have plans on my calendar–walks, lunch dates with friends, a carmenere tasting, fall bulb planting–that keep me looking forward with absolute joy and delight. The struggle with the push and pull of time’s accordion is to be.here.now, though. For this moment, I will be grateful for feelings of anticipation that keep me awake at night.