Looking out my Backdoor: Time and time again

Sunday, here in Mexico, we pushed time back an hour. Whew. Hard work, pushing. Guess what? It’s the Last Time. I don’t mean the End of Times. Or the end of time, as relative a concept as time happens to be.

The Mexican governing body voted to hang out in Standard Time, forever and ever, amen. I’m happy with that decision. I have no reason to complain. I don’t live by the clock. I don’t need to get up at zero-dark-thirty to go to work. Nevertheless, I’m happy to stay on one clock.

When the sun reaches a certain point of light, I awaken. Every morning. Even cloudy mornings, I open my eyeballs about the same time. Shower and dress and out the door to be greeted by my tail-wagging pooch, ready for her walk. When darkness covers my world, I retreat to bed with my Kindle.

Ha—when I lay it out there in black and white, sounds pretty boring. But it isn’t. Nothing about my life is boring to me and l live inside it so I should know.

Take this morning, after coffee, I cruised my yard and garden, picked a lime, two tomatoes, and a plump chili. I fingered three baby figlings on my new fig tree. Not ripe yet. I glared at the papaya, a male. It’s not his fault he can’t have babies. I’ve planted two more, hoping for a female. Young trees look so androgynous.

I don’t eat a lot of meat. Every two or three months I buy a half-kilo of bacon. So I fried up enough for an egg and toast plus leftovers for a tomato sandwich later in the day. May not be exciting to you but it makes me feel a right rich woman.

You want excitement? After breakfast, I reached for my outdoor broom to sweep the patio. Just as my fingers grabbed, I saw that a green thickness had wrapped around the handle. Instantly I executed a noisy back jump until eyes and brain coordinated and realized the gripper was nothing more than a twined vine from the star jasmine. Sure got my heart pumping.

Golly, November already. The ten plus days of the annual October Festival passed noisily. We do love our fireworks. Halloween hasn’t really caught on here but why should it when The Day of the Dead is so much more fun, yes, fun, and meaningful, a dress-up celebration with food and drink, music, flowers and favorite things to commemorate those who’ve gone.

Every day, I consider whether I should change to my winter bedding and bring my electric heater into the house. Every day, thus far, I’ve resisted. I unpacked sweaters for morning wear. Afternoons I ditch the sweater as the ambient air reaches into the 80s. So far, so good.

One hour does make a difference. And with that one hour showing up in the morning when it is cooler, I feel the difference. In another week, I won’t notice it. Time does that. It takes. It gives.

The sun is acting strange. Seems rather sudden that now it moves around the day this-a-way and mere weeks ago it moved around that-a-way. I suppose it’s a time thing. Nothing stands still.

I’ve been worried about the birds. This time of year they usually are waking me up with their outlandish racket of conflicting birdsong; conflicting but wonderful to hear. And the mornings are quiet. Too quiet.

A flock, a crowd, a murmuration of yellow-head blackbirds just flew over, painting a mottled shadow in the sunlight, briefly marking their passage. Guess I just didn’t give our winter birds enough time.

This pandemic has given me gifts. One gift is time to be selfish; selfish in a good way, I hope. Being by myself so much, I’ve taken time to pay attention, to really pay attention to various aspects of my character I’d much rather dismiss and sweep back over into the corner where I found them hiding in the dirt.

Paying attention, carefully paying attention has led me to acceptance. When I don’t fight those uglier facets of my whole self, I listen more carefully to you. I become less critical of you. All from being selfish.

Self-assessment is dangerous. However, I’ll risk it. I’m feel like I am more of myself. I haven’t changed. That’s not what I mean. I’ve de-cluttered. I fill my life with fewer distractions. My needs are simple. I have few wants.

I’ve no idea how much time I have to be boring and selfish, but I have today, and I’ll take it.

——

Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].