MEET MY FRIEND, HEATHER
Ever since I met her, I’ve wanted to show her where I grew up, but the economic fact is that we’re both pensioners. That’s where dreams and hopes come in. And fairy tales. There’s an old song telling us that fairy tales can come true, that they can happen to you, etc. Well, we’re young at heart and fairy tales can come true. Well, at least in fiction.
Heather and I have travelled quite a bit together so that when I had the idea of writing about this dream trip, it made perfect sense to include her. You can read about our adventures next spring in Book 1, LAX-SYD-YVR.
Time has meaning. We say things like time out, don’t waste time etc. Part of the ethos of our present world is the invention of time-saving machines that somehow end up losing jobs. We have measured our conception of time into extraordinary segments — like, five hundred thousands of a second; gazillion light years. Yet, do we understand time?
I gained a couple of understandings through dire necessity. The first was when I was much younger and realized that past wrongs were preventing me from growing into a happy adult. I was brought up in a Christian home and had thought much about Christianity. Its ideology taught that God was the creator of time. Therefore, my young self reasoned, he wasn’t bound to segments of time as we were. So I prayed that this God that wasn’t bound by time would heal by younger self.
Did it work? Yes.
The second occasion was just recently when I suffered a concussion. Days, weeks, months and years were lost to me because my brain wouldn’t work in its normal way. To some extent, I was without time and I found different crevices in my brain. For some reason, it fixated on the cadences of the sixteenth century, and wondered if Shakespeare’s audience would have appreciated the playful liberties he took with iambic pentameter. One night I wrote up with a orchestral version of a symphony in my head. It seemed my brain was interested in anything, except writing.
I’m very grateful for that recent time out of 21st century time. I came out of my concussion with a bang — writing 41,000 words of fun in three months. Next spring you will be about to read the results, an seniors’ fairy tale called LAX-SYD-YVR. I have never written with such joy, much less punch out a novel in three months before. But then, I had an idea of doing a couple of projects to make money at Christmas. My brain, however, had learned what the cost of what those twelve hour days would be. Look for the ebook and audible book called Christmas with Murray’s Mom next Christmas.
So, it seems, that at eighty years of age, I have finally learned to hear the cadence of my brain, to understand my own time. At least, a little better than it had.