Friday, May 05, 2017

Your Blip, Your Moment

An excerpt from my journal, from March 2, 2017.

Esther and I took Jonny to his guitar lesson at Mr. G''s in downtown Sycamore. Mr. G shares space with surplus stock of an antique dealer. Esther and I sat on some creaky old chairs and listened to Jonny work out a few songs with the expert accompaniment of his teacher. I looked out the front window and soaked in the ambience of downtown Sycamore.

I then got up to look around and stared closely at a touched up photograph of a turn-of-the-20th-century couple in a round-frame with curved glass. No one knows who this is, I thought.  These people are long dead, yet they look 20 years younger than me.

They look so serious. He, with his severe part and high, starched collar. She with her bun, her plain, severe farmer's wife face. But they were young and now they're gone and this once-prized centerpiece has a price tag on it in the corner of an antique shop.

Yet this moment, this captured moment,  like all moments, is rare and fleeting and charged with an extra poignancy. Because,  hey, this is it. Your blip. Your time to live. To listen to your son play guitar, to read together as a family after dinner, to lie with the dog in the dining room morning sunshine. To be home and soak it all in.

Because the moment is all we have. And then, blip,  it's gone. On to the next. And on and on...

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