Time in a Bottle

From the words of the late Jim Croce:

If I could save time in a bottle,
The first thing that I'd like to do,

It was a beautiful day today here in Corvallis; hitting almost 90 degrees. Jane slept much of the day, and I took a much-needed motorcycle ride through the countryside to Independence, OR.

This was a tough ride for me, since I'm used to looking in my rear-view mirror, and seeing Janey there, on her white Honda Rebel.

It's not the first time that I've thought about what it is going to be like to not have her "back there" anymore.

Is to save every day,
Till eternity passes away,
Just to spend them with you.

When I arrived home, she asked, "Are you back already?" I wish I could have gone for a ride with you." Me too, honey.

If I could make days last forever,
If words could make wishes come true,

So we sat together in the back yard this afternoon in the shade, dozed a little, enjoyed the gentle breeze, and the birds arguing with the blue jays.

I'd save every day like a treasure and then,
Again, I would spend them with you.

Every day is a treasure; I am so grateful to spend them with you, my love.

I Sleepe Not Day Nor Night

No dear friends, the title of this blog entry is not misspelled. It is a subtitle to a work written by John Donne in 1624. Jane and I became interested in the works of Donne after watching the movie "Wit" starring Emma Thompson.

For those of you who have seen this movie, you'll understand immediately. For those who have not, let me just say that it is a very moving story about a renowned professor who is forced to reassess her life when she is diagnosed with terminal ovarian cancer.

I was reading this morning, and would like to share a portion of one of Donne's works with you:

Hee that hath seene his friend die to day, or knowes hee shall see it to morrow, yet will sinke into a sleepe betweene. I cannot; and oh, if I be entring now into Eternitie, where there shall bee no more distinction of houres, why is it al my businesse now to tell Clocks? why is none of the heavinesse of my heart, dispensed into mine Eye-lids, that they might fall as my heart doth? And why, since I have lost my delight in all objects, cannot I discontinue the facultie of seeing them, by closing mine eyes in sleepe? But why rather being entring into that presence, where I shall wake continually and never sleepe more, doe I not interpret MY continuall waking here, to bee a parasceve, and a preparation to that?

Jane and Terry and I were talking just this morning; it seems as if time has slowed down again; it labors, crawls.


This is not necessarily a bad thing; more a feeling or perception than anything. We so desire to have more time with Jane, and it is in the quiet, slow moments now that we share our time together.