Where Have All The Hours Gone - Long Time Ago?

On August 1st it was 36 years since my family (sans brother) returned to my current (and hopefully final) house after 4 years away in another neighbourhood.  On August 2nd it was 35 years since I revisited, for the very first time, the previous home we'd lived in prior to first moving here in 1972.  (Hope that's not too confusing.)  We'd been back in this house for a year and a day when, by prior arrangement with the woman who'd lived here before us and with whose family we'd originally swapped houses, I revisited my former address 16 years after flitting when I was a mere 13 and a half year-old teenager.

I was then only 29 years-old on that first return visit so 16 years was more than half my life up to that moment.  It seemed like we'd moved only a day earlier, but paradoxically, also many years more than that at the same time.  Maybe it was because I was yet a schoolboy in 1972, but had been a working man from a mere 2 or 3 years after that, right up to 1988 (not counting occasional periods of unemployment between jobs).  Hard to believe that I've now been back in this house for more than twice the duration I'd been away from its predecessor when I returned for a visit.  Time runs away from us all, eh?

Back then, barring accidents or illness, I had more life ahead than behind me, but now it's the reverse of that, sadly.  That's one of the things we lose as time passes - the sense (or illusion, if you will) of eternity that accompanies us in our youth, but also fades along with it.  When we get to a certain age, every friend, neighbour, or family member who dies reminds us of our own mortality and that we've now taken up residence in Death's waiting room, waiting for our name to be called.  And that concludes Crivens' cheery thought for the day.

Do you ever consider such grave thoughts, Crivs, or do you prefer to leave them dead and buried in the depths of your subconscious lest they haunt your waking hours.  (See what I did there?)  Feel free to comment if you so desire.

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                                                          We are but older children, dear,

                                                          Who fret to find our bedtime near.

Lewis Carroll

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