Français : Montre gousset. Česky: Kapesní hodinky. Deutsch: Taschenuhr. English: Pocket watch, savonette-type. Italiano: Orologio da taschino (cipolla). Español: Reloj de bolsillo. ગુજરાતી: ખિસ્સામાં રાખવાની ઘડિયાળ. עברית: שעון כיס. Македонски: Џебен часовник 日本語: 懐中時計. Polski: Zegarek kieszonkowy. Português: Relógio de bolso. Русский: Карманные часы. Slovenščina: Vreckové hodinky. Slovenščina: Žepno uro so izumili leta 1510 v Nemčiji. Suomi: Taskukello. ไทย: นาฬิกาพก. 中文: 怀表. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
As previously mentioned, I was a somewhat serious child. That being the case I was terribly concerned about the state of my parents’ lungs. At that age, schools were still attempting to veer us away from the questionable activities life has to offer. I had been inundated with all of the available information. So to look at my parents’ mound of marlboro packs, not yet rid of their mile markers, was to see every tar-ridden lung and untimely death imaginable.
During the course of this particular phase, I happened to grab my mother’s jacket on a cool morning. I didn’t know that my aunt-a far less disciplined smoker-had borrowed said jacket the night before. At lunch, went I went to swing the jacket over my arm, a pack of cigarettes-marlboro ultra-lite 100’s-and a lighter fell from the pocket and clattered noisily to the floor. My fellow, equally anti-smoking peers were shocked and disgusted. A traitor, found at the very heart of the rebellion.
I was taken to the office, subject to many a stern stare. As I am innocent of the crime, I stare back. My mother’s arrival sent the administration all aflutter. The dangers of smoking-and at that age!-surely required immediate action.
I’m fairly certain her laughter could be heard anywhere on the grounds.
Having cleared up the situation, my mother took me home. I was not pleased, and found nothing in this funny. When her clear enjoyment of my ironic experience had grated enough, I said something about the danger, no laughing matter, yada yada. She, in turn, gave me some of the best, and most oft quoted, advice I’ve ever been given.
“Yes, I could die from lung cancer, or heart disease. I could also get hit by a bus, or choke on a french fry. You don’t need to worry how you’re gonna die. You just are. It happens.”
Profound. Absolutely perfect. At 8 years old, I found out that I really could do anything.
This cavelier attitude towards death permeates my entire family. That being the case, time is infinately valuable to us. A common conversational cap you would hear in our house would be, “Give it back.” The required reply, “What?” And of course, “The last 30 seconds of my life.”
Ironically, we’re relatively patient people. But awareness of our pending expiration date lends a higher price to our time. We can’t stay at jobs we don’t like, for instance. We also tend to be tired, because we push the boundary of how little sleep one can reasonably function on. And the people we share time with are worth being around.
Tonight, the same bird was at it again. Across the street, it’s ever changing tune the only break in an otherwise silent night. Same time, 1:30 am. Tonight, after several days of this, and the disappearance of a light above the tree line, Emily and I decided to go investigate.
The bird lost it’s shit. Sent out crazy twirls and twitters, still varied, but more urgent. On our way to it’s hideout, we came across what looks to be a crop circle-at least from the light of one streetlamp. Of course, I’m sure it’s not. But it certainly looks like one. Two big circles, on big rectangle, attached by a long line. Lines near it that put me in mind of those long desert lines that span miles.
The bird was silent until I came outside just now. It is still managing to come up with new sounds. I really don’t tend to look for signs from above. I figure I wouldn’t know how to accurately interpret them, so why pay attention? And there’s always the danger of feaux-signs.
But I really feel like this has to be some kind of sign. It’s too weird to just be normal day stuff.
P.S. If the end there seemed unrelated, that’s because it is. That’s just an update on the bird from the last post. But also, Emily counts as a good person to spend time with. I probably wouldn’t have gone over there, left to myself. High five, dude.
the second site 