Sunday, April 10, 2011

Hear the Echoes

We are two weekends deep into April already.  My inability to grasp the rapidity with which time moves is a recurring topic here but regardless of the ever-accruing mileage on my tires, my comprehension level as it comes to time's passage remains static.  If it was static and at an elevated level, then I suppose I could pretend that I have it covered.  It is not.  Therefore I cannot.

It is incredible to me that this time three years ago Rob was wrapping up the collegiate chapter of his life's story and preparing to turn the page to its first full-time professional chapter.  While I do not recall for certain, it seems to me that it was at or about this time three years ago (maybe it was closer to May) that he told his mother and me that his first stop - after seventeen and one-half fun-filled weeks in Georgia - was going to be Cheyenne, Wyoming.  Margaret's reaction to the news of learning that he was going to spend  at least the first three years of his career in a town that is only four hours away - by airplane?  McMurtryesque.

Rob has been home (at least that is what I call it.  My blog - my noun) since Wednesday night.  His reason for being in the Eastern Time Zone is work-related.  It is a visit high on expectation and tantalizingly light on certainty.  As a disciple of the great American philosopher Lawrence Peter Berra, I never attempt to move the cart by placing it in front of the horse or to take a beak count (even a quick one) on unhatched chickens. Even so, if the Daily News calls me this morning to ask me for the dope, I know exactly what I intend to say.  

But that is a hoped-for conversation for another day.  For now, I shall just sit back and watch the years fall into the fading light.  After all, the sun does set in the West. 


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