Ever since 1971, singer/songwriter Carly Simon has caused us not simply to feel anticipation, but to sing it as well.
And so I am singing. Anticipating. Waiting. Waiting, just now, for the real advent of Autumn after these tantalizingly cool few days. Waiting, just now for the buds to break open on the mum that has replaced the geraniums on the front sidewalk. But mostly waiting, just now, for Italy -- nine days and 17 hours from now (but who's counting?).
I've never been expert at delayed gratification, but patience seems to be a virtue more readily in hand as time seems to accelerate the older I get. Whereas Christmas, as a child, seemed to remain forever on the far side of the calendar, now it seems hardly worth it to pack away decorations. It's always right around the corner. Birthdays never seemed to come, but now they seem almost weekly -- rather like my Dad's observation about the way Sundays come around "with ruthless regularity."
But this time, this impending vacation -- even at my age -- I'll admit to childish impatience. We packed almost two weeks ago -- even our quart-sized zip lock bags with their carefully measured 3 oz. bottles. Our passports are as ready as we are. The only thing holding us back...
...is the calendar. It isn't quite time, our eagerness notwithstanding. But that's OK. Once the trip begins I'll be begging time to stand still.
So, I'm watching the buds for practice. Intricately beautiful in their own right, they will open in their own time...
"We can never know about the days to come
But we think about them anyway...
Anticipation, anticipation
Is makin' me late
Is keepin' me waitin'..."
And so I am singing. Anticipating. Waiting. Waiting, just now, for the real advent of Autumn after these tantalizingly cool few days. Waiting, just now for the buds to break open on the mum that has replaced the geraniums on the front sidewalk. But mostly waiting, just now, for Italy -- nine days and 17 hours from now (but who's counting?).
I've never been expert at delayed gratification, but patience seems to be a virtue more readily in hand as time seems to accelerate the older I get. Whereas Christmas, as a child, seemed to remain forever on the far side of the calendar, now it seems hardly worth it to pack away decorations. It's always right around the corner. Birthdays never seemed to come, but now they seem almost weekly -- rather like my Dad's observation about the way Sundays come around "with ruthless regularity."
But this time, this impending vacation -- even at my age -- I'll admit to childish impatience. We packed almost two weeks ago -- even our quart-sized zip lock bags with their carefully measured 3 oz. bottles. Our passports are as ready as we are. The only thing holding us back...
...is the calendar. It isn't quite time, our eagerness notwithstanding. But that's OK. Once the trip begins I'll be begging time to stand still.
So, I'm watching the buds for practice. Intricately beautiful in their own right, they will open in their own time...
...in the same way that the plane will board. In its own time.
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