time, time, time

Time, time, time, see what's become of me.  That's what Simon and Garfunkel sang back in the day.  For guys who weren't very old, they had a strange obsession with the passage of time.  In one of their other songs of the time they sang, "I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song/I'm twenty-two now, but I won't be for long/And the leaves that are green turn to brown."  Brown?  I guess I'll show them brown.

But I never thought much about getting old, it didn't seem like something that would ever happen to me.  My thirtieth birthday came upon me as a surprise, the way Christmas does every year.  When  I started computer school at thirty four I wondered if I wasn't too old to embark on a new career (as opposed to bartending),  At forty my parents sent me a birthday card that said on the outside Forty isn't old, and on the inside If you are a tree.  I don't recall any big deal, like sitting tear-stained with my memory book in my lap, when I turned fifty, sixty, seventy.  Thirty years just like that.  Who knows where the time goes?

I got up around five like I do most days now that I am one of those very senior seniors, and I do the shower and all that stuff and sit down at the table with my coffee and turn on the computer.  Old Dog, if he has anything to say, usually says it around five PM.  I usually check out the Beaglestonian in the evening, but not always.  I am almost never up late enough to read Beagles' post.  Seems to me that it never appears before ten, which is eleven in his goofy Michigan time, so I don't know what it is with that guy.

Time. time, time, and here it is still more than an hour and a half till sunrise.  The days are becoming longer, but that's the sunset getting later while the sunrise has actually become a couple minutes later since the solstice.  And the year is almost over, kind of a boring time of year, everything is the year in review, and like I say we were here then, we know what happened.

I grow old, I grow old, I shall wear my trousers rolled.  That was the great poet.  I think having trousers rolled back in that day meant having cuffs, but  I don't know what having cuffs has to do with becoming old.  This whole line of conversation is getting a little old don't you think?


Why then is there a Kansas and a Nebraska?  Why isn't there just a Kansbraska?  What is it that you can do in one state that you can't do in the other?  Apparently rhere are things that you can't do in Montana or Wyoming that you can do in Idaho.  I guess I'll wait for Beagles to tell about it.