Time Passes, and Not At My Pace

"Back in the day," our high school baseball games were on Monday and Thursdays. I lived for Mondays and Thursdays. I recall Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday being really long days. Growing up on a farm, we'd watch the weather pretty closely, and if it was supposed to rain on a Monday or Thursday, well, I'd be hard to console -- sometimes three days in advance.

"Don't wish your life away," Dad would say. "The weather might change between now and then, and besides, someday, you'll wish you had all that time back."

I thought he was nuts. Admittedly, as a kid, I often thought he was nuts. Too bad it took 35-some-odd years and pancreatic cancer for me to realize he was the smartest guy I've ever known. (He knew that, too. "It's amazing how wrong I was then, and how right I am now, even though I haven't changed my mind, huh?" he'd say in those last few years before he died...)

I am pretty sure today is Saturday. I am pretty sure that the normal plan would have had me getting in a quick round o' golf with the boys this morning, then meeting Jodi and The Three by the pool. Maybe some lawn work toward day's end and then some decent dinner at a decent spot tonight -- a decent bottle of wine or two -- and home at a decent time for another "normal" day tomorrow.

Normal ain't so normal these days.

Six days post-surgery, I expected to get up, feel better than any of the five days prior, maybe take a couple walks, maybe even take #2 of The Three over for a lesson at the golf course.

Instead, I spent most of the morning in bed, wondering if and hoping that this mix of meds was the right one, and wondering when it was going to feel like I was on the road to recovery, instead of on The Highway to Hell -- which, while a great song on my iPod -- is not so much what I had in mind when I was wishing away all those non-Mondays and Thursdays.

One of those pathetic soap operas that my folks, sister and grandma used to watch was "The Days of Our Lives." "Like sands through the hourglass..." the voice-over before each episode would start, and I'd run, wretching, for a baseball bat or glove, or a bicycle, or anything that got me away from the TV...

But, you know, when Dad was telling me not to wish it away, he was reminding me that our days are like sands through the hourglass....and they pretty much chug along at their pace, not ours. Sometimes, I don't think I get that so well...

Dad "got it." I hope I "get it" more on the other side of this whole episode, and I hope, somehow, I help our kids "get it," before the proverbial 2 x 4 to the side of the noggin' is involved.