Oh me, Oh life, oh time slipping into the future

Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future …

             Fly Like An Eagle — The Steve Miller Band

The question, O me! so sad, recurring–What good amid these,
O me, O life?

Oh me! Oh Life! — Walt Whitman

I woke up this morning and realized that suddenly, it was the week before Christmas, 2014. Christmas number 59 for those of you who are counting along with me.

The time between the end of summer and today is a blur, despite my desire to slow down time, analyze life and savor each day for its merits. Life, unfortunately, doesn’t like to be scrutinized that closely, and it wriggles and struggles the tighter you hold it, like a little bird fighting to free itself from your hand. Sometimes I think of life as a boat with a capricious driver, and I am the water skier behind it, just trying to hang onto the rope.

Halloween flew past me, and I am sure there were some costumed grandchildren and candy distribution, even some crocheted candy corn dolls for the little ones. For a brief moment I had time to ruminate on Halloweens past: my own costumed adventures and those of my children as they grew. But mostly I was distracted by the impending move of my son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter to Iowa, all on the heels of my son’s knee surgery, my own smashed finger and the usual waves of sniffles, colds and viruses that bloom in the little ones, who are only too eager to share.

By Thanksgiving the engine on the stress train was belching huge clouds of steam, tempered only by a lovely Ladies day out at a local tea room for a 7 course after-Thanksgiving family gathering. Then it was back to packing, hauling and flying to the Midwest with my knee-braced son and his daughter, while his wife and mother-in-law drove the car. It was a whirlwind of activity, punctuated by tears I tried to hide and I returned to New Jersey weary and sick. Not much time to reflect on life, philosophize on the meaning of it, compose poetry about it or write blogs to document the passage of it. No, instead I was living it.

Now, I race to catch up on holiday rituals, chores and preparations. Another offspring’s family is moving to a new house as I write this – closer to me. The Yin and Yang of this is not lost on me, even as I burn the candle of my brain on both ends dealing with financial mayhem and health issues of my own. Anticipated surgery has been canceled because this would have added a level of disability, intense organization and expense too chaotic for even an experienced juggler like me.

So, the sentimental, nostalgic, end of year writing I expected to do, during this, the last Christmas of my 50s isn’t popping up on my computer screen. I cannot wax wise and whimsical, nor create quotable quips to be repeated by family and friends.

Only this: there is nothing more wonderful than being fully engaged in life; balancing a plate that is impossibly full; ears filled with a cacophony of family voices; and a heart full of emotions too plentiful to count.
LIVE.