Time has come to talk about time

Time waits for no one, unless you have a humdinger of a hangover, and then it goes on and on. It stands still.

At other times, time wears winged sandals, like that flower delivery guy. Actually his name is Mercury Man.

Mercury Man has some Denver in him.

According to Wikipedia, “On Aug. 18, 1910, 15 American florists led by John Valentine, a Denver lawyer and floral company owner, agreed to serve each other’s out-of-town customers by exchanging orders via telegraph, and they called their organization the Florists’ Telegraph Delivery (FTD).”

I don’t know which one of them came up with the idea of representing the company with the god Mercury, but it was ingenious. It made an impression on me long before I ever started to order flowers for anyone.

Maybe it was because I ran track, and he looked like he might have been a track star too. I set a school record that will never be broken. It’s not that impressive: They just don’t run the race (220) anymore.

We used to compare our times after meets, and if we improved, we improved by splits of seconds.

And then we would go to an American history class, and it seemed like it took an hour for 10 minutes to go by.

I ran out of time on an algebra test, and guessed the answers, and I was right. But I was penalized for not showing my work. I still don’t know how I did it.

If one train leaves the station at 8 o’clock going 50 mph and another train leaves the station without enough dinner rolls for everyone, what time would a third train have to leave the station with rolls for everyone on the second train?

Time is very important in track, unless you are a pole vaulter.

My favorite pole vaulter – ever – is a Texas high school girl named Charlotte Brown. She finished fourth in the state meet this year, and cleared 11 feet. I trip over the dog.

Charlotte depends upon an electronic signal with a beeper to tell her when it’s time to jump. Charlotte is blind. I dare you to try to get through the YouTube about her without getting choked up.

I like baseball. There are innings, not quarters and halves. An inning might last four or five minutes, or 45 minutes.

The time it takes to play an entire baseball season is imposing. The season starts in April, and they are still playing in November.

Conceivably, you could conceive a baby on Opening Day, and the kid would be around for the seventh game of the World Series.

We all get two years: One to the left of the dash, and one to the right of the dash. My father’s years were 1919-2008. I will never forget the number to the right of his dash. My father lived a long time.

It takes a couple of hours to write a column. Then I leave it alone, sometimes overnight, and sometimes for a few days. I read it, reread it, revise it, and sometimes I delete it.

Directors play around with time all of the time with devices like flashbacks and flash forwards.

Some people are habitually – even addictively – late. I am always early.

My dog is aging differently than I am, and I don’t like it.

If your son is 10, he’s a kid. If your dog is 10, his clock is ticking.

Jennifer said she would be here between 6 and 6:30 two Fridays ago. We had an 8:33 a.m. flight to Los Angeles the next day. The game between UCLA and Oregon in the Rose Bowl – we were there – started at 12:30 p.m.

I don’t think college football is a waste of time. Besides, as Bertrand Russell said, “The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.” Craig Marshall Smith is an artist, educator and Highlands Ranch resident. He can be reached at [email protected].

 

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