I have a neighbor who I usually only see when I’m walking the dog and he’s driving by in his car. Every now and then he stops, then rolls down his window and tells me about his daughter. It’s usually about a landmark event in her life.
Yesterday, he rolled down his window and said, “M. is turning 15 today.”
I congratulated him, bagged Sam’s poop and walked on home. I thought about the last time my neighbor rolled down his window and tossed out a proud tidbit about his lovely daughter.
“M. started high school today.”
That seems like just a few days ago, but I guess it's been about five months now.
Before that, it was, “M. graduated from middle school today, can you believe it?”
As I was walking back home yesterday, I realized that I can always count on this particular neighbor to mark time for me. Sure, I have a calendar and even a planner. But when each day just sort of rolls gently and evenly into the next, it’s easy to feel as if time doesn’t really pass.
My neighbor calls to my attention the thunderous and quick movement that time truly is.