With Time on My Hands

          As the recent weekend came to an end, I became aware that I had some time on my hands. No, really, I had time on my hands. I was putting away my freshly washed socks and as I placed them in the drawer, I realized that in the bottom of the drawer were a number of old watches.

         There were two watches that were owned by my grandfather, including a pocket watch and chain. There were several from my father and then there were the ones that I had purchased over the years. Among the collection was the first watch I had ever owned, a Christmas gift from my grandparents, engraved on the back with the year and date. There was a watch from  my wife with my college alma mater on its face.  

       There were no great finds here in monetary terms, only the value in memories.  Each watch had stopped at a different time.

          As I pondered the fate of the collection, I began to think about the concept of time. It is one thing that every person alive in the world has in common. Male, female, black, white or Hispanic, we are truly created equal, at least when it comes to time. Sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour and twenty four hours in a day. It is what we do with that time during a lifetime that makes us different.

          There is the neighbor down the street who appears to be involved in every committee going in town. How does he find the time? So what if he cuts his grass after the sun has gone down while I am trying to watch television, or the soccer mom, taking the kids to practice, then racing home to cook dinner and out to the PTA meeting.

          I remember trying to cram as much into a twenty four hour period as I possibly could. The job and family demanded it, life demanded it, or so I thought. But the second hand continued to tick off the seconds at a consistent, rhythmic pace, the same for everyone on the planet. No person’s second is any longer or shorter than anyone else’s.

           But that is where the similarity ends. While each minute and hour may be the same, it is the total amount of time we spent living that varies. There are many who live well into old age while others die at a young age because of illness or some catastrophic event that cuts short a life. One only needs to read the obituary pages in the local newspaper to see the range of ages at which people lose a life to accident, illness or some other cause.

          As I looked at the watches in my hand, each one had stopped at a different moment and I began to understand that ‘time’ was a gift.  I thought about how much time I had wasted. That time wasted was something I would never gain back, no mater how long I lived. It was gone. What I decided at that moment was that I didn’t want to do is waste any more time.

        By the way, I don’t wear a watch any more.

         

May I have just a little bit more maple syrup... please!

   Within the past several days, I have heard the same comment at least five or six times. “You are what you eat. ” Winter can be a challenging time of the year when it comes to food and healthy eating and many, including myself, often retreat to the 'comfort foods' to get away from the winter cold. But then, as warmer weather approaches we pay the price for the lack of exercise and the over eating as we transition back into shorts and tee shirts. OMG, these shorts make my thighs look...huge!

   While I am not sure I totally agree with the statement that 'you are what you eat', as I walk through the aisles of the local grocery stores and peek at the contents of the shopping cart around me, I do wonder if there might not be at least some level of truth to the statement. Perhaps there is a government study that can be done to validate my observations.

   Take for example, the fresh vegetable and produce aisle. While I don't see too many people pretending to be a fresh broccoli or organically grown kale leaf, their look is a great deal different than those walking the candy and soda aisle. And the same might be said at the fresh meat and fish counter. ( I often wonder what happens to those items that do not get sold. Where do they end up?)

   I confess! I like to eat and I tend to eat a variety of different foods. I especially like Italian, the spaghetti and pizza variety along with stuffed shells every once and a while for a change of pace. Top the meal off with a nice glass of red wine, for the heart of course, and it could be the perfect -10 degrees below zero meal for the middle of January. But, because I like Italian food, does that me an Italian?

   I like fish, either of the fresh or salt water variety, including clams, shrimp, and other things that crawl along the the ocean floor. But I don't think that makes me a fisherman, although in my younger days I did cast a line on occasion.

   Depending upon the time of year, I can pass up a frozen hamburger patty out of a box for a fresh green salad with plenty of lettuce, some freshly cut cucumbers, a radish or two for a bit of spice and several slices of freshly grown tomatoes. With just a few drops of salad dressing, memories of the long, cold winter are gone. But because I like fresh fruits and vegetables doesn't make me a farmer, although I do dream about owning several acres of land, with two or three garden plots, lush with freshly grown vegetables (tomatoes are my favorite), I might also have a small tractor (that's what I really want) and maybe one or two sheep.

   Snacking has become almost a national pastime and was fine with me when I was a bit younger. Potato chips, pop corn and cheese doodles were often found in partially opened bags on the kitchen counter or atop the refrigerator. But as the doctor once said at an annual physical, unless I want to end up in a plastic bag like a bag of chex mix, I might want to think about something a bit healthier. How about chocolate? OK. I like apples and bananas too.

   If I am what I eat, I must be a breakfast person. Of the three meals of the day, maybe more meals for others, I like breakfast the best and to support my liking, the research shows that it is the most important meal of the day and should not be skipped, especially if you are a kid at school (For the record, I do support breakfast programs at school, Too many children come to school hungry and as a result have difficulty learning.)

   Breakfast offers a variety of options and so many different tastes. I know there are people not fond of eggs, but there is nothing like two fried eggs, sunny side up, several pieces of freshly buttered toast, with real butter, two strips of bacon, a fresh glass of orange juice and a cup of freshly brewed coffee. And that's just the appetizer! Just kidding. Because I like breakfast, maybe I am what I eat. No. I am not the chicken or the pig. But I am someone who enjoys a hearty and healthy meal at the beginning of the day.

   But my favorite breakfast is...french toast. The great thing about french toast is that it can be served for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Fresh off the grill and golden brown in color, the only enhancement needed is the warm 'pure' maple syrup, drizzled over the top, poured from one of those tiny little glass pitchers. Maybe I really am French at heart.

   Could someone please pass me the syrup!