Time

On my desk in our bedroom is a framed black-and-white picture of the five of us, taken on Scott's birthday two years ago. It is not crisply black-and-white-there is a hazy, grainy quality to it that makes it look older and perhaps wiser than it is.

We all look happy and relaxed and young, seated in the grass by a stream on the Plaza, legs crossed, heads in hands, content.

In front of the picture on my desk in our bedroom sits my round clock from the Pottery Barn, the one Carrie gave me a couple of Christmases ago, when she was just a girl. It is round and sits on stumpy silver legs like an old, beloved Big Ben, with a black knob on top for my fist to stop the day from beginning, should I find the idea disagreeable.

The clock is big, and so must sit six inches in front of the picture so that I can see the photograph while I work. The light shines through the window just so today, causing the silver backing on the clock to be superimposed by reflection over the five of us, as we sit by the stream, content.

On Doug's shirt, the reflection of the black arrow on the clock's back points the opposite way from what it should. Dare I take a chance on turning back the hands? If I followed the arrow's mirror-reverse direction, would I end up losing time or gaining it? Would my husband have cubits added to his life, or subtracted?

On the leg of Kevin's jeans, a rectangular door has appeared. The current battery grows old, I am certain. Who knows if the clock is even keeping accurate time at all? If I replace the battery behind the little door, will time end up going faster, slower, or at just the right speed?

Will I ever be happy with the speed?

I listen to the clock for several minutes; it never misses a beat. The distance between the time of the picture and the time of the present grows ever longer.

Do I only imagine that the five of us in the hazy June picture look younger and younger as the clock ticks from now steadily into forever?

The light shines through the window still, only now I know what I must do.

I move the clock to the other side of the desk and keep on writing.

Posted by Katy on 08/19/03 at 08:44 PM

Fallible Comments...

i would love to have that picture--could you e-mail it to me?
-----
Posted by marilyn on 09/03/03 at 06:55 PM
Marilyn--You are so dear. Yes, I will. (Please, God, help me remember...)
Posted by katy on 09/06/03 at 07:28 PM

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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	Time On my desk in our bedroom is a framed black-and-white picture of the five of us, taken on Scott's birthday two years ago. It is not crisply black-and-white-there is a hazy, grainy quality to it that makes it look older and perhaps wiser than it is. We all look happy and relaxed and young, seated in the grass by a stream on the Plaza, legs crossed, heads in hands, content. In front of the picture on my desk in our bedroom sits my round clock from the Pottery Barn, the one Carrie gave me a couple of Christmases ago, when she was just a girl. It is round and sits on stumpy silver legs like an old, beloved Big Ben, with a black knob on top for my fist to stop the day from beginning, should I find the idea disagreeable. The clock is big, and so must sit six inches in front of the picture so that I can see the photograph while I work. The light shines through the window just so today, causing the silver backing on the clock to be superimposed by reflection over the five of us, as we sit by the stream, content. On Doug's shirt, the reflection of the black arrow on the clock's back points the opposite way from what it should. Dare I take a chance on turning back the hands? If I followed the arrow's mirror-reverse direction, would I end up losing time or gaining it? Would my husband have cubits added to his life, or subtracted? On the leg of Kevin's jeans, a rectangular door has appeared. The current battery grows old, I am certain. Who knows if the clock is even keeping accurate time at all? If I replace the battery behind the little door, will time end up going faster, slower, or at just the right speed? Will I ever be happy with the speed? I listen to the clock for several minutes; it never misses a beat. The distance between the time of the picture and the time of the present grows ever longer. Do I only imagine that the five of us in the hazy June picture look younger and younger as the clock ticks from now steadily into forever? The light shines through the window still, only now I know what I must do. I move the clock to the other side of the desk and keep on writing. Posted by Katy on 08/19/03 at 08:44 PM Fallible Comments... i would love to have that picture--could you e-mail it to me? ----- Posted by marilyn on 09/03/03 at 06:55 PM Marilyn--You are so dear. Yes, I will. (Please, God, help me remember...) Posted by katy on 09/06/03 at 07:28 PM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: New Life Previous entry: So We're Even << Back to main


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Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

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Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri