Banman – Just a matter of time
Kremmling CO Colorado
The passage of time is a matter of perspective.
The amount of time required for two hours to pass is relative. It is relative to the activity in which you are engaged.
Picture yourself on a beach in Mexico with nothing to listen to but the lapping of waves on the shore and chances are two hours will pass between the blink of your eyelids.
Place yourself in the grandstands of your favorite sports team and two hours will seemly slip away between bites of your hot dog.
Sequester yourself between the covers of a favorite page turner and two hours of your life will pass between the major points of plot development. The same could be said about a favorite movie or, for some of you, the season-opening episode of American Idol.
Conversely, two hours in a laborious activity can make time defy the laws of physics.
My college economics class was held immediately after lunch in a stuffy second-story classroom. Time did more than stand still. On a particularly warm Kansas day in October of 1973, I observed time moving backward. This wasn’t a theoretical experiment in some controlled laboratory environment. I witnessed the hands on my watch move in a counter-clockwise motion.
Not only is the passage of time relative to the activity, it depends also upon who is engaged in that activity.
Recently, I was with my wife and two daughters and we stopped to pick up a few things at a retail outlet. I stayed in the car for a few winks and to listen to a football game. After I roused from my slumber, I listened to the remainder of the first half, cleaned out the car, organized my briefcase counted to 100 and repeatedly checked for any sign of the merry shoppers. Nothing. Finally, I walked into the store to find the three revelers ambling down the aisles, happily engaged in mother/daughter conversation.
The time recorded by the atomic clock in Boulder was, no doubt, two hours. For the three most significant women in my life, it probably seemed like no more time than the flap of the wings of a butterfly. For me, it felt like enough time to not only read War and Peace, but to write a stage production depicting the story in great detail.
When I started this column, the vehicle I was driving broke down on a mountain stretch of I-70. After making the necessary calls to get help on the way, I told my wife that it would be about two hours before help arrived. She, being of a member of the “glass-half-full-club,” suggested I write a column. And that is precisely what I did. Along with coasting down the highway to the next exit, securing a couple of soft drinks from a bar and getting in some meaningful conversation, I wrote a column on the passage of time.
The two hours that passed didn’t seem too bad.
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