Obscurity of Time

The Obscurity of Time

As a master crafter of words, I’m learning that not everything I say is understood in the manner in which it is intended. For example, when I tell someone that I will be there “in a bit” to me that means sometime in the next few hours; to my grandmother, it means she has her shoes and lipstick on and she’s waiting by the door.
When I tell my husband I bought something “a while ago,” I know that time is speculative and even though it was a few hours previous to our conversation, in his mind it could be something that sat in my closet for months.
Although I say something will be done the “first of the week,” to me it means before Friday, but to some people, it means Monday or Tuesday. While giving directions to my artist, I tell her she will have “plenty of time” to do the needed task. In my mind, two hours should be “plenty of time.” Why then do I hear complaints that it takes six hours to do the project and we did not allow the necessary time?
“Later” to me could be from June to December, when later to someone waiting for a delivery could be fifteen minutes from now. “Visiting tonight” means anytime between dinner and bedtime, while to a sick friend it means the courteous time frame between 7 p.m. and 9 p.m.
To a lady-in-waiting, nine months is never enough time to prepare for a baby, but to a school kid, nine months is like an eternity.
I suppose all this obscurity of time is why my children have “suddenly” become adults, and our grandchildren are having birthdays made of years instead of weeks. How could this space of time eluded me? Rick and I are getting older, and although we are still “growing older gracefully,” “like a fine wine” they say, I have no doubt that “sooner or later” we be “aging like moldy cheese,’ and it will stink!
Childhood should be between the ages of newborn to 12, when actually, there are now adult six-year-olds. And then of course, there are 30-year old children. The problem is that time and reality never seem to merge into the same spectrum. This column that I write is due on Tuesday at 4 p.m.; but in my mind, Wednesday at noon is the new Tuesday.
So how does this thing we call time work? I’m certain I can figure it out “in a bit” so I’ll tell you “in a while” that “sooner or later” we hope to know for certain why “time flies” in some cases and in others “time drags.”
In the meantime, don’t “lose track of time” because you will no doubt “waste time” if you do. And remember, “every moment counts.”