So Fast

 Mr. Ginley is forever telling me to slow down.

Look, Teeny Strawberries!

"Where is the finish line?" he queries. "Why are you in such a rush to get there?"

I know he's right of course. There's plenty of evidence right in front of me. Every day on the news, some famous figure that I grew up with has passed on. This week it was Brian Wilson and Sly Stone. Sure, they were in their 80s, but that's not that old. 

Is it?

Don't answer that.

It's such a cliché that time flies, but it really does. I may grumble and wheeze and roll my eyes when the exercise queen Leslie Sansone talks about how fast a workout has gone by. But then, before I know it, I'm playing the DVD again and doing the workout again, and ya, so fast.

It's hard to slow down, though, when you've had the zoomies all your life. Getting up, having breakfast, going to work, coming home, making dinner, spending family time, going to bed. Getting up on the weekends and running all the errands I didn't have time to complete during the week. 

Slow down. Breathe. 

I'm trying, I really am. Maggie just showed up, purring. Reminding me what's important. I gaze into the backyard. It stormed earlier, and now raindrops are kissing the leaves of the bush outside my kitchen window. There's a cool, welcome breeze blowing in. And church bells. The coo of a mourning dove. A snapshot of something lovely.

If only that bush weren't blocking my view, I really am going to have to get out there and cut it back. And just look at all those weeds taking over. I wonder if the blackberries are ripening yet? 

Maggie turns around and whacks me with her tail.

I know, I know. There aren't that many miles to go before I sleep. If I don't slow down, I'll miss all that lovely scenery.

And wouldn't that be a shame.