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Urban legend has it that a recently retired lady living in Sedgefield woke up in the early hours of one morning to discover that her husband wasn't in bed. Hoping that he may be on the computer googling a surprise gift for their upcoming golden wedding anniversary (perhaps a trip overseas? or a cruise?) she sneaked downstairs to see if she might look over his shoulder and get a hint.
But no. Much to her surprise she found him sobbing at the kitchen table, his whole body heaving in wracks of desperate misery
“My dear!” she said, putting her arms tenderly around his neck, “What on Earth could be making you so upset?”
“Oh it's nothing,” he said, bravely wiping his tears away, “Really, nothing you need to worry about.”
But being the wife that she was she certainly wouldn't let it go there.
“We have been married so long that I can't bear to see your heart so sore,” she soothed, rubbing his shoulders, “Come on my sweetheart, you know you can tell me anything.”
“Well,” he started, “I was just thinking back…. you know, to when we were first dating one another, when you lived at home and your dad was still a magistrate.”
“Aaah yes,” she reminisced, gently putting her chin over his shoulder and whispering, “Those were fun times. You were twenty one and I was what…. only eighteen!”
In between sobs he continued talking, as tears trickled down his cheek. “And do you remember that night we went to the drive-in that beaten up old Ford bakkie of mine, and then, when I took you home, we parked in your folks' driveway and started cuddling…”
“Oh we were so young and in love,” she said, her eyes glinting wistfully, “I remember the windows steaming up, and how nervous you were that my dad might catch us. It seems like it was yesterday.”
But her words did little to calm him, indeed it seemed he was nearing hysteria...
“He did catch us! Remember he stormed out the house, pointed a gun through my window and told me that if I didn't marry you he'd have me arrested and locked up in prison for a double life sentence!”
“Oh yes he did, didn't he?” she chuckled, “He really was quite angry, and such a big man too… But … my love, why is all this upsetting you now?”
“Well…' he cried out aloud, unable to hold back a fresh flood of tears, “I WOULD HAVE GOT OUT TODAY!”
Now once you have finished feeling sorry for this fellow, or indeed his wife, you will surely agree that this little story is proof that TIME means different things to different people. Indeed I would even go as far as saying that time has different speeds for different people …. And, come to think of it, different occasions.
For example, if anyone out there shares the common opinion that 'time is moving much too quickly these days', I challenge that person to sit and wait in the car whilst my wife is shopping in a pharmacy…. Because I swear that's when time stands still…. For me anyway. Especially if I don't have a book… perhaps the full Lord of the Rings trilogy… or a complete set of encyclopaedias to browse through.
It's like sitting in some sort of solitary confinement torture chamber in the Australian outback. I swear I can hear my own heart beating… at one beat per forty seconds….
But in contrast to this, inside the pharmacy Mrs Ed feels that time is going at double speed. She insists that whilst she is sauntering up and down the aisles taking in the magnificent selection of perfume she can purchase, pills she can pop, potions she can partake in and er… all the other products she can peruse, time is just not on her side.
“But I was only in there for five minutes,” she'll swear blind when returning to the car to find me sporting a new beard, and putting the finishing touches on the full set of chess pieces I have carved out of an orange peel I found under the seat.
Of course the whole concept may work in reverse on other occasions. For example when we are at a party of sorts and, despite the fact that I am getting more and more handsome, sharp-witted and clever with every pint I drink, Mrs Ed insists on giving me her famous ‘One more beer then we’re going home’ look. Then, once we are safely at the house and she’s busy (roughly) hauling me out the passenger seat, she’ll start ranting and raving about how it took me three hours to finish that last particular glass of amber nectar, whilst of course it was only a matter of five or six minutes... or so...
But I suppose I can’t expect her to have any concept of time, really, if you consider the poor woman’s family.
Even a casual ‘let’s meet for a cup of coffee’ can turn into something so chaotic time-wise that I'm sure the Earth does a double take on its axis in sheer dumbfoundedness....
Take last week for example. I was going to rush through to Knysna one morning to get my learning-to-drive daughter’s scooter road-worthied (yes, fellow road-users, be afraid, be VERY afraid), and I happened to mention this to Mrs Ed.
“Oh good - we can meet my family for a quick cup of coffee,” she said.
Perhaps it was a momentary lapse in sanity, or maybe in my haste I didn’t hear properly, but I somehow agreed. After all, this family thrives on what they call ‘spending quality time together’.
Already running late, we arrived at a fine coffee establishment and sat down with Mrs Ed’s mother and sister. They smiled and waved because they were both on their phones. I checked my watch as my mother-in-law eventually finished her call, and was about to remark that it had been an impressive 25 minutes conversation when she stood up and said
“Don’t go away - I'll be back, I just have to go and....”
I can’t quite remember what she had to go and do, but I think it must have been ‘shear four dozen sheep and paint a lighthouse inside and out’.... and off she went.
Meanwhile the sister-in-law had finished her call, garbled how nice it was to be spending time with us, then asked if she could take our car because she needed to rush to the bank. Foolishly I thought she meant a local one, but evidently it was the Outer Mongolian branch of Barclays, so Mrs Ed and I were left to stare at one another for three quarters of an hour.
Whilst you will understand this was somewhat unpleasant for me, it worked for her because she eventually developed a headache, and could thus rush off to find a pharmacy.
The next two and a half hours were a combination of slow-motion (I stared at my feet betting against myself as to which blade of grass was growing faster) and a blur of rapid activity as all three women would rush back to the table at different times, then flitter off again, in and out - like some sort of handbagged hokey-cokey, pausing briefly to nibble at their carrot cake or sip luke-warm coffee - standing up of course “Because I must just quickly....” .
Eventually, after 2 hours 47 minutes and twenty seven seconds, knowing that work was piling up back at the office, I could take no more. At a very brief intersection in time when all three happened to be in the near vicinity of the table (one arriving, one leaving and one ‘just popping to the loo’) I leapt to my feet and insisted I had to go. They were heartbroken.
“So soon? It’s just so sad that you’re such a busy man, and always have to rush off so quickly,” one of them reflected. “Not even time for a quick social with the family,” another remarked.
“You really need to slow down a bit,’ said Mrs Ed as we got into the car.... “Otherwise you’re going to drive right passed Clicks.”
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