The Funny Thing About Time

We arrived here on a Tuesday almost two weeks ago. About two days later I drifted out of any normal, human understanding of time. It happens every year and for some reason it always surprises me. This year it seems more intense. Maybe it’s because I’ve retired so I am no longer as trapped by the calendar as I was before. All I know is that time loses its meaning here. Let me attempt an explanation.

I wake up every morning before Pam. The sun rises around 5:10 and there is no way to block its light through the sliding glass door of our bedroom, which is only six or seven steps from the water. There is a lovely little sheer curtain that gives the illusion of privacy but is useless against the morning sun. So, there is morning and I enjoy the quiet, the stillness and the chilly temperatures.

There is a mid-morning here too, when the sun rises in the sky and begins to dominate the lake. This is usually when I venture out in the kayak or Pam takes out her paddle board. Sometime during this mid-morning the wind picks up. Some days it’s gentle, other days it blows like a gale. Sometimes we get caught out on the lake when it changes and the gentle lake we enjoyed when we left the dock just two hours earlier has turned into a beast on the return trip. 

There’s also a dependable afternoon on this lake. These are the warmest hours of the day. We eat some lunch, but it’s never at the same time from one day to the next. We eat lunch when we are hungry. At some point during the afternoon I take a nap. All the windows are open so there’s always a breeze drifting  across the bed. I enjoy the deep sleep of a carefree mind.

There is a delightful evening here. The sun sets a little after 8 o’clock. The wind dies down. We have dinner either inside or out depending on how cold or warm it is. I usually cook something on the grill. I fish off the dock between 8 and 8:30 every night. Almost always catch something during that thirty minutes. Then we watch the sunset. 

So, there’s morning, mid-morning, afternoon and evening here.

But somehow they don’t all add up to a day.

We both ask each other —what day is it?— what seems like several times a day. The truth is that neither of us knows. We have to glance at our watch to answer the question. Sometimes I think…are you sure?  The reason we lose track of the Gregorian calendar is that it doesn't matter. What difference does it make what the name of this actual day is? It’s not like we have any appointments. Each day that we have woken up these past two weeks there has been nothing planned for the day. We decide what we will do when inspiration comes. Often the weather dictates our plans. Generally speaking, if it’s gorgeous outside there’s no chance in the world that we will leave the lake. If the weather is less than ideal…overcast or too cold or too hot, then one of us will suggest a possible plan for heading this place or that. Then the other one will say, ok, let’s do it…and that’s that.

For the next few days it will be a bit different since we will be hosting friends. And for what it’s worth I have a clear awareness that tomorrow is Tuesday only because that’s the day they will arrive. I think they will be leaving on Friday, so those two days I’ve got down cold! The rest of the time will just be a blur, an amorphous block of time that we spend living in the moment in Maine, where the days have no name and the hours hold no power.