When I was a freshman in college, I took a class that covered, among other things, the way human beings measure the passing of time. One method, which in my dimmed memory was called something like “astronomical time” or “real time,” referred to measures of time that are rooted in celestial events. For example, a day is a day because that’s how long it takes the earth to revolve on its axis one time. A year is a year because that’s how long it takes the earth to travel its orbit around the sun. Long before there were people, there were days and years. Some things happen whether or not we’re paying attention. There is another kind of time. I wish I could remember what the professor called it. Human time? Invented time? These are the measures of time that humans create. Epochs and eras, ages and empires, months and hours. Perhaps they are not quite arbitrary, but they are most certainly invented. We think that a year has to have 12 months, but it doesn’t. A day could just as easily b
“So what do you think we’ll do today?” My son asks this question frequently. His grandfather sits at the round table with the checkerboard pattern. He methodically works the New York Times crossword puzzle, periodically throwing clues in H’s direction. “Winnie-the-Pooh catchphrase?” “Uhm…honey?” “Eight letters.” “Uhm…” “We’ll come back to it.” H circles the table peripatetically. “South American range?” “Oh!” H breaks from his orbit and walks to the framed world map hanging near the refrigerator. All geography clues send him to the map. “Ahn-dess,” he says, carefully adding Spanish pronunciation. “Anne-deez,” my father corrects him. “What! But it’s Spanish!” H cackles in feigned exasperation. He has been taking a Spanish enrichment class four mornings a week for nearly two years. He has learned
Notes from today’s HIKE… We’d been hiking for 90 minutes when the counting started. “One, two, three, four…” My five year-old son began verbally marking each of the steps required to get home. He was tired. I didn’t blame him. The HIKE (as the WALK is known when kids are involved) can be stretched to several miles. There’s a lot of up and down, especially when your legs are the length of a stick of salami, and not quite as muscular. As kids go, mine hike better than most, particularly if they don’t realize they’re hiking. I tend to say things like Let’s go look for banana slugs in the woods or Want to go find a good tree to climb? I don’t think of this as lying. It’s more like clever packaging. By the time they realize they’re exhausted, we’re an hour away from home and they’ve got no choice but to hike back. I am either building their stamina or teaching them not to be so trusting. Either way, a win-win in my book. Unlike her brother, the eight year-old fancies herself
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