It's Sunday night, the time when I tend to look back and ahead...back at Shabbat, and how quickly it went by, with two laboriously-prepared meals and our dear friends at our table...and then, with the Northwest light departing as quickly as it can, the day is over, with dishes still being washed and laments that there was not even any time for a quick nap.
Sunday night, when the one day of the week not programmed has passed...has been wasted somewhat by late sleep, and the remainder used for an outing with my one child still reachable, my 14-year-old son, who makes strange noises on the phone with his male friends, and always lifts his shirt to peer at his "six pack" (not from working out but from sheer skinniness) when passing by a mirror. Even he is too old for the child-centered fun that forms the best memories of our family Sundays, and so we snatched another friend and her three little ones and headed for lunch at Noah's Bagels and then to the Museum of History and Industry with its re-created boardwalk streets, enlarged old photos and plenty of buttons to push, tactile examples to feel, and voices from the past to hear. It was wonderful, and the little ones were adorable, and once again I am reminded that they are not MINE and the smiles and joys belong to me only fleetingly and to their mother completely.
The weather is cold; the sky gray; I wore gray today to match.
The passing of time is quite a punishment. Last night I went to the box where I had stashed all the photos, slides and mementos shipped to me when my siblings cleared out my parents' house after my dad passed away. My mother preceded him in death and he was so devastated he did not change the house at all. Her clothes remained on their hangers in the closet, and in her drawers in the dresser. Her glasses remained on her side of the bed. Everything stayed as if he expected her back momentarily. So I was putting back something in the box, and on top saw something in his handwriting. I removed a yellowed multi-page card he had fashioned--a Valentine--in which he had written all the years they were together, and pasted in photos from their past. He put in funny captions and words of love, and after writing out each year from 1939-2000, concluded "I will love you forever."
Cheap trick. I cried like...well, THEIR baby.
Musn't waste time. But on the other hand, I want to keep it from going on...which is why I bug people completely by taking masses of photos. I don't want to lose the moment, and by having photos, especially the digital ones that entertain me as a slideshow on my screen saver, I can savor that time again.
So it's Sunday night. Soon I'll go with my husband to take our daughter back to her sorority for another week apart from us. And I must get productive; I must not procrastinate by blogging, or by doing the REALLY tempting thing--downloading the photos from today--but it's Sunday; can't we just hold onto these moments when our family is almost complete--before the press of a new week begins?