Illusive Time

Seven weeks have passed since I last posted. How is that possible? How can days pile into weeks without my notice? I look at my calendar. I open iCloud photos. I search for highlights of time lost.

The week after my last post, fall quarter began with unusually large classes in a partially unfinished building. I'm in a spacious classroom with floor to ceiling windows that frame the changing seasons, and the folks in IT ironed out the frustrating computer issues by week two. Or perhaps week three.

By mid October, classes were settling, and it was time to winterize the garden. I’ve had a board and brick bookcase since the early 1980s. It was in my work office for close to thirty years until the building was torn down and I landed in a much smaller space. We re-purposed a few of the boards and bricks and brought in the potted plants for an indoor garden. Blooms blur seasonal change.

In late October, I accepted a new personal truth: afternoon gym workouts weren’t going to happen. So I began 6 a.m. spin classes. Enough time for an intense hour-long workout and still make it to my first class. I can’t pretend I like it, but I feel good when it’s over.

The month ended with streams of trick-or-treaters at our door. Such a change in West Seattle. When our daughter was knocking on doors, my husband watching from the sidewalk, she was one of few kids in the neighborhood. Now they seem to be sprouting like autumn mushrooms in the Northwest forests.

We are in a constant state of change as nature gifts us lovely sunsets and hummingbirds that flutter through the leafless branches and feed just beyond my office window.

I've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all

Joni Mitchell, Both Sides Now