Yesterday I wrote about what was going on in our lives one year ago as we finally got a diagnosis for our son Gideon and started him on the treatment that cured his cancer. So you’d think that I’d be rejoicing at any and everything that happened this week, since nothing could be as bad as that was. Right? Right. You would think that. And yet, there I was on Tuesday, grumbling and complaining to myself about the dinner I was making for my beloved community chorale’s annual business meeting. “I wish this were over with,” I thought. I had the sensation that I often have when I’m doing something I don’t particularly want to do, feeling as if I’m being dragged along unwillingly towards the event I’m preparing for.I needed to remind myself of the truth of this post’s title. Time always passes. The date always arrives. The clock always ticks on. Nothing you can possibly do will change the inevitable transformation of the future into the present, and then into the past. Much better to be a willing and active participant, taking pleasure in the whole process, rather than acting like a child who keeps yanking back on her mother’s hand as she’s pulled towards the doctor’s office.
The dinner did go well. We ran out of food, sort of, but that’s because people ate like ravening wolves. (Always a good sign.) I wish I’d enjoyed the process more. I guess I’d better wrap up this post and go downstairs to prepare the meal Gideon requested for his next-to-last evening at home before he leaves on Saturday: lasagna. This time I’m making it instead of buying it from Costco. So I’ll make a good-faith attempt to enjoy browning the meat and sauteing the onions and layering the noodles.