The makings of a good day:
- Fresh air.
Sometimes, I hit all four. Yesterday was one of those sometimes, and it was as luxurious as one might imagine. It had been a long while since Ken and I had been on a proper date – the kind where you sit at the same spot you always sit at, where you talk about the same things you always talk about, where you stop and realize you are looking into the same eyes that you have always looked into, only they’re different now.
Ken and I were babies when we married – baaaaaabies! – so, really, our eyes were bound to change. His have deepened from green to hazel with age, and mine are the same gravel color they’ve always been, only now they’re circled by wrinkles, by laughter, by time.
Speaking (typing?) of time. Here are some artifacts I’ll remember about this season, about another short winter ending, about something new beginning, something that feels almost like spring:
A black turtleneck. Comfy jeans. My Cluse watch.
I didn’t start wearing a watch until two years ago. I had one in elementary school that played ‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand’ by the Beatles, and at some point, after months of wear and tear, the secondhand stopped ticking but the song still sang, so I just kept wearing it anyway. But then I wore it to swim practice, forgot to take it off before a set, and, well, long live Lennon.
I never purchased another watch, and I don’t know, I just kind of forgot about them. But then! Then! I found this one.
Mom! Stop! Look! There’s a clock on your arm!
Time has been funny to us these days. We’re in limbo in a lot of areas – I’m waiting for my book release, Ken’s waiting for work news, Bee’s waiting for gardening season, we’re all waiting for a baby. It seems like time has stopped, but it hasn’t, of course. The secondhand isn’t ticking, but the song still sings.
Yeah, you’ve got that something
I think you’ll understand
Ken and I made the most of our date day – a rare two hour window where Bee had Chinese lessons and neither of us had looming deadlines to tackle – and we strolled through the botanical gardens, coffees in hand. We talked about life, and time, and how slow this fast season is passing by.
We’re OK with the slow. We’ve never minded a good stroll on a Friday morning.
When I’ll say that something
I wanna hold your hand
Time has always felt borrowed to me. It has always felt like a gift, not like a given. And I suppose that’s why it’s mostly easy for me to let it tick on, let it play, let it be (let it be, let it be, let it be).
It marches on. It needs no help from us.
So today, we take it. We take the time.
We walk through gardens and peer at plants that are growing with water, with light, with change. We make some plans. We break some plans. We watch time bend forward.
We wonder when we’ll catch up.
(We wonder when we’ll realize that we already have.)
When my watch says 11:30, when it’s time to pick up Bee from her teacher’s house, when the parking meter is about to expire, Ken reaches for my hand.
Ready to go? he asks.
Ready to go, I say.
This is an essay written for Cluse Watches, the maker of my first official grown-up watch (it doesn’t sing Beatles songs, btw). If you’re in the market, these three are my favorite!: Classic, Modern and Minimal. Enjoy!