“Time does not exist in any absolute sense. It is simply a way of measuring the change that occurs in anything that has been born in the universe’s life.”
—Albert Einstein
Time Flies
I have a theory about time. It goes something like this: just to make math simple, let’s assume you live to be 100. When you’re four years old, a year represents 25% of your life. That’s a long time! Christmas feels like it takes forever to arrive—especially since the stores start decorating for it in October. And a year of school? Forever.
By the time you’re 17, a year shrinks to about 6% of your life. At least then, there’s the hope of finally graduating. When you’re 50, however, a year is a measly 2% of your life. No wonder it flashes by in a blink. One minute, you’re swilling green beer on St. Patrick’s Day, and the next thing you know, it’s summer, and the kids are out of school.
At this stage of life, time slips away so quickly that I’ve come to appreciate anniversaries. Mr. Einstein was right. We need to measure the changes that occur as we age. If it weren’t for the little celebrations we mark throughout our lives, we could get to the end and not remember a thing.
Mark Your Celebrations
Celebrations rule! Take the number ten. Ten is big. For every ten years of wedded bliss, you get nice stuff. Traditionally, this meant tin. I browsed through Mr. Google’s gift suggestions and found two: a nice set of tin designer storage containers, or the newer tradition – a diamond. Oh, which to choose, which to choose? Decisions, decisions!
Twenty is platinum (used to be china – you can see a trend here), thirty is diamond again (maybe bigger ones), forty is ruby, gold for fifty, and by sixty, you get another diamond if you are still alive.
Cherry Pies
Ten in a kid’s life is major. You get to use double digits when you write your age. I remember the celebration that marked 10% of our twins’ lives. After fielding several suggestions for the party, the messy-tasty combo was chosen. Messy and tasty are both high on young chaps’ lists, so a pie-eating contest was deemed to be just the thing. If you try it, make sure that the party takes place outdoors, and there is a pie for each child. Keep it simple. Fill your pie plates with pie filling. Ours chose cherry, saying, “Mom, it will look like we’re bleeding to death. It will be so awesome.”
Top that with whipped cream and put them on a waist-high wall (the pies, not the kids), and enforce the no-hands rule. Our gang rather liked that and to ensure no cheating, tie the lads’ hands behind their backs and let ‘em rip. Also, tie up the dog (trust me). I do recall some of the lads breaking free and pies being tossed, but hey – I remember it! Those happy pie-covered faces remain stamped like a giant red footprint in my brain.
Perhaps as we near the end, our lives will roll up like a long carpet spread along the past behind us and will disappear. If that is so, I want my carpet covered in cherry pie. And maybe a diamond or two.