“Who knows where the time goes?” I awoke at dawn today with that bittersweet Judy Collins song swimming through my head. I pad down the hallway towards the kitchen to make my coffee, pausing at our daughter’s room to let her meowing foster kitten out. I get the coffee brewing and the kitty fed then settle down to breathe in a new day. I take in the view from the kitchen window, it’s all but consumed by a riot of bean, cucumber and tomato plants; all of them heavy with the fruit of our springtime labor. A flock of tiny bushtits peck away at the suet feeder. Our cat Ella patrols the garden on her morning rounds. It’s not too different from any other morning so far this summer except for one thing. Today is the first day of senior year for our two children. 

Neither of the twins had any trouble rousting themselves this morning. Normally, getting either one of our 17 year olds out of bed is like waking a bear from hibernation. They emerge from their respective dens and reluctantly pose for the requisite first day of school photo. This is a tradition that Carol and I have carried on since the kids began preschool. Both have that  “C’mon mom and dad” look on their faces as we snap away.

I marvel at how much they’ve grown and how cool they both look in their back to school garb. Sam has sprouted up this summer and stands at 5’ 8”, two inches taller than Carol. The standard skateboarders watchman’s cap is pressed down on his head, long brown hair spills out the sides and touches his shoulders. Sam’s electric blue eyes sparkle like the mountain sky. The front of his pink hoodie sports a retro drawing of an 80’s style boom box. Long, baggy thrift store jeans and skate shoes complete the outfit.

Denali’s body hasn’t changed a whole lot this summer. She’s still whippet thin with long legs that helped her become a standout this year in the triple jump. Her Pippi Longstocking red braids sit behind her back and fall past her waist. She has never had a hair cut. I have yet to find the right words to describe her hazel eyes. She’s wearing a green, long sleeve shirt with a picture of Bob Marley and the words “56 Hope Road” on the breast pocket. She’s opted for a pink little kid backpack to haul her things in.

And just like that, they are out the door. No need to drive them to school, they each have their own car and can drive themselves. For a few minutes Carol and I just sit there in silence, letting the gravity of this moment sink in. As our kids grow, people keep telling us to enjoy each moment, each milestone because “It happens fast.” I’m not sure if that’s necessarily true. Yes, it is hard to believe that this is our kids’ last year of school before heading off to college. Yes there are times when it seems like only yesterday when we were dropping them off at the door of their first preschool. However, I don’t really feel like it “happened fast” because Carol and I have been so present with our children throughout every step of their development so far. Relishing every precious day of Sam and Denali’s first 17 years has made time feel not like it has passed in the blink of an eye but rather like a lazy river flowing. Realizing the beauty of each moment with them has in essence helped to actually slow time down.

As I watch them drive away, scenes from our kids’ lives swirl through my mind. From diapers and sleepless nights to their first steps, first time on a bicycle, first solo trip in a car. Fevers and frantic trips to the ER. Soccer games in the park to soccer under the lights on the varsity field. Trick or treating, Easter egg hunts, photos on Santa’s lap. Swim lessons at the pool to surfing on Maui.

On this August morning my heart is full to bursting. I swell with pride over the many wonderful things our kids have accomplished thus far in their short lives. The moment is bittersweet though and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling some sadness and a sense of loss. However, I remind myself that this is not an ending for the twins but rather just another stop for them on the wheel of life.

The secret ‘o life is enjoying the passage of time

James Taylor

I’m not going to write about Covid-19 or the delta variant or imbecile anti-vaxers. I will not write about California wildfires or European floods or the myriad other natural disasters fueled by climate change. There’s no way I plan to write about the world situation in general, which Kurt Vonnegut once presciently  said is, “Desperate as usual.” Instead I think I’ll write about the trilogy of fountains on our back deck that bubble and gurggle all day and all night.

I close my eyes and these fountains become a creek making sweet music as it tumbles over rocks through a primeval forest. With California in the grips of a prolonged drought, our fountains have become a refuge and a reliable sourse of water for the many birds that make our backyard home.

The hummingbirds hover tentatively before dipping their long beaks in for a drink. They occasionally feel brave enough to fully immerse themselves and splash about like happy children. The chickadees are a different story. These brave little songbirds dive right in with no hesitation. One of our fountains is a succession of metal seashells which empty into one another. The chickadees always choose the topmost shell. I’ve stood as close as three feet away while they drink and bathe. They seem oblivioius to my presence and continue splashing away. Finches, jays, tanagers and towhees all perform their daily ablutions  in our fountains.

One fountain is a white porcelin bowl decorated with a delicate light blue floral pattern and sits just above a clawfoot tub. One recent morning I found tiny muddy footprints running along the bottom of the tub and up onto the rim right below the fountain. These were raccoon tracks. Evidently our resident birds are not the only creatures who enjoy these refreshing waters.

Another fountain is a deep rectangular basin fed by a weathered and algae covered bamboo spigot; it is lined with smooth, colorful sea stones that Carol and I collected along the coast. We once tried to populate this fountain with tiny snails hoping to keep it clear of algae. Alas, the snails didn’t last very long, victims of some mysterious nocturnal predator.

There’s a sliding glass door in our bedroom that opens onto the deck which we keep open with a screen at night in the summer. The fountains blend together in perfect three-part harmony, lulling me and Carol to sleep. The sound of moving water;  crashing waves, mighty rivers, gentle creeks or simple rain has such curative properties. Storms along the coast invoke awe and a deep respect for the power of nature. A comfortable place beside a forest creek is the ideal setting for quiet meditation. A walk in the rain is a dream come true.

Twenty six years ago I was floating down the Nile River on the trip of a lifetime to Egypt. Our captain and I stood together one morning at the bow of his felucca. Snowy egrets perched atop tall trees along the river bank, the rising sun making their feathers glow. Fishermen in small canoes cast their nets among the rushes which swayed gently in the breeze. Small children waved and splashed joyously in the shallows. The cobalt blue waters just flowed and flowed. I recall commenting to Captain Salah how beautiful I found this scene to be. He turned to me and simply stated, “The Nile is life.” And so are our fountains, a microcosm of the beauty and life giving properties of flowing water.