I was going to give you five songs with “long” in the title, but I did that for the A to Z Challenge. So much for that idea.
At midnight last night, the first half of the year ended, and we’re now in the second half. I used to joke that I was still writing last year on my checks (“cheques” for those of you in the UK or its commonwealth, or what used to be the commonwealth), but (a) I don’t write (with a pen or pencil, anyway) anymore, and (b) who writes checks nowadays? Remember when the big deal from banks was “unlimited free checking!”? That was a long while ago.
Remember when you felt like a year was a long time? When you’re a kid, even an hour is a long time. We used to go on vacation to Delavan, Wisconsin each summer, and when we first started going (I was seven), it felt like the trip took forever, even though it was under a hundred miles and took an hour and a half at the most. We’d always stop for lunch at Huml’s in Lake Geneva on the way. It was roughly halfway between home and Delavan, and we’d get there about the time the three of us were complaining we were starving. See, we’d be too excited to eat breakfast, and besides, we were told we’d leave “first thing in the morning,” meaning after Mom’s Aunt Cash got to our house. She lived on the South Side, a little over seventeen miles (28km) south of us, and since Cash drove at around ten miles an hour (16 km/hr), if she left her house at nine, she’d get to ours by eleven, then of course she and Mom would have to sit around shooting the shit and drinking coffee until finally Dad would get the two of them moving because we were bugging him, because every time we’d bug Mom she would tell us, “We’re going in a little while! Now quit bothering us!” “A little while” was, of course, a very long time. After Dad died, we wouldn’t get there until dinnertime. We learned to eat a big breakfast while Mom and Cash told us we’d leave in a little while.
Now I feel like time moves at the speed of light. Not really, but it moves a whole lot faster than it did long ago. I mean, summer really snuck up on me this year. (“Snuck” is the past tense of “sneak.” It’s a word now.) I wish time moved as slowly now as it did when I was seven or eight. Someone theorized that the reason time moves more quickly when you’re old is because it’s less time compared to how much time you’ve lived. I was going to calculate it out, but it’s like an hour is a tenth of the total lifetime of a sixty-year-old that it is of a six-year-old. Or something like that.
Stream of Conscciousness Saturday is brought to you each week by Linda Hill, who has the rules and the pingbacks at her site.
from The Sound of One Hand Typing