"Time Travel"

I had a dream once...  I was told by an unknown force that time didn't behave the way I thought.  I was shown a flat piece of paper.  "You think time starts here and progresses to there."  A point on the left was indicated for the beginning, and a spot on the right for later.  "Time isn't like that."  The paper was crumpled up and a place was marked with a black marker where 2 folds touched.  "In reality, these times are close together."  The paper was smoothed out.  The black dots were far apart when the paper was flat.  "The universe has folds in it like the paper.  Some times are easily touched from the present, and the present isn't as absolute as you think."

Well!  Mess with my reality!  I couldn't imagine coming up with this idea on my own and wondered who was teaching me such things.

I woke up feeling like I ought to inform NASA or someone in authority about how time works.  Of course, I didn't.  Who needs a folder on themselves at a government agency documenting radical thinking?  (It's so much better to blog about it!)

Sometimes I think novels about time travel wouldn't exist if there wasn't some part of our minds that believes it's possible.  Why can't we peek through the veil at the past or future events?  Maybe it's just a deep desire to correct the tragedies of the past?  Anticipate the tragedies of the future?

Mostly, I try to avoid politics on this blog.  I have opinions.  I'm pretty sure regular visitors can guess my opinions.  I just want this to be a pleasant place instead of foot stomping rants about the general public's stupidity and ignorance.  Sometimes I wonder if I'd spoken up more before the last election whether or not I could've had an influence?  Probably not -- yet, what if all the sane people had spoken up more?  Maybe collectively we could've changed things?

Current events in the US and in other democracies are comparable to watching the destruction of Rome or the Nazi-fication of Germany.  Except, the present stupidity is worse than the fall of an empire or murder of specific types of people.  It will be in the 80s (F) this week in Ohio, that's not right.  People are dying in Puerto Rico and US Virgin Islands because the strength of hurricanes is part of climate change, and the government is slow to help these people because they're not white enough.  (...deleting obscenities...)  US officials aren't working to protect the safety of our elections because Russian interference worked out for Republicans.

If I could time travel, I'd like to peek ahead 50 years to see whether or not Earth still exists as we know it.  I'd go back in time and try to argue more persuasively to the idjits.

Unrelated, I have ranted about wildlife decimating my gardening efforts.  Since the groundhog kept eating my Swiss chard, I planted some in an indoor pot.  I couldn't understand why it didn't grow very well despite my best efforts.  I wondered if the groundhog had found a way inside -- and then I caught my dog eating it.  Varmints inside and out!

"Paper"

I have a sensual relationship with paper.  Coarse paperbacks, silky Bristol board, wispy rice paper… Mmmm…  I think this started when I discovered construction paper in vivid primary and secondary hues, Mom yelling “Don’t run with scissors!” She didn’t like little bits of paper lying on the floor, but I liked them.  It was like discovering bits of previous inspirations.  Mom just doesn’t understand creative priorities sometimes.  She has a real thing against Legos too.

I’m trying to distract myself today by thinking of happy paper thoughts because what I’m really thinking about how much I hate the newspaper sometimes.  Dad used to read the obituaries every day and say “Well, I’m not in here today!” – until one day he was.

It’s been one of those weeks -- another accident, another irreplaceable person gone, another round of picking up pieces like little bits of construction paper.  The fact that I’ve been through this a number of times doesn’t make it any better; the steps to follow are just more predictable.

Wednesday I had dinner with Toby and her husband Tim.  We laughed and talked and everything was so normal.  I liked the way Toby smiled, and liked figuring ways to make her do it.  When we parted in the parking lot I gave her a hug, thinking about what I wrote last week about touch and hugs.  How could I know that would be the last time I’d get to hug her?

She was warm and smart and funny and everything nice.  I am so going to miss her.

I don’t know why the school bus hit her or how the kids on the bus are affected by being part of an accident like this.  How the bus driver will deal with it?  How can I help Tim in the aftermath of this kind of shock?

I think about how Tim kept loading her plate with zucchini during dinner.  They seemed so well matched and happy together.  It seemed like they had figured out zucchini compatibility and every other kind of sharing a long time ago.  I can only be glad for them that they had that kind of happiness together.

I’m blessed to have known her, so sad I can’t know her longer.

Moving along to the next phase of grief, I’m so POed that I have to deal with this again.  How many other people have to keep burying their friends?  I’ve been going back and forth between sympathy and concern for Tim, anger, sorrow, self-pity… yeah, all the usual stuff.  I know all these feelings are normal and part of the process, but I don’t want to feel these things.  I’d like to be able to just have dinner with Toby again.  We would’ve seen each other again next Saturday and laughed over bagels.  We were regular as clockwork, and now there’s a gaping hole in my monthly calendar.

Life sucks, and then you die.  One of these days it will be my turn.  Meanwhile, please send healing thoughts and prayers to Tim.