There are events in our lives that seem to stop the world around us. The event may be joyful, and our mind pauses to soak in the feelings of happiness or contentment the moment has brought. The feelings and images get filed away easily for our mind to recall. Our mind also seems to stop time from advancing when there is an event that causes pain and distress. It stops us from moving forward until it can determine where and how to store the memory away. Perhaps Josey’s story will help you find an understanding of how the human mind processes events that stop time in your life. HLA
“It’s 5:15 pm and it will be dark soon. From my perch I can see parts of the pond below me. When the wind shifts just right, I can smell the smoke from our campfire. It was too cold this morning to type anything. I struggled bad with my fingers and toes. These days it seems I have plenty to write about. Since I was ten or so I have written stories, but the last year I never wrote a thing. In the back of my head a story is being written about that year, but no way it can be written from a perch in the woods on a tiny typewriter. That story will take my undivided attention and come to life in a place where the double doors to my soul can stay open.
My bride and our oldest boy are coming to the cabin for supper tonight. The oldest had soccer practice this afternoon, so my bride said she would bring supper at dark.
As I walk down the hill to the pond, I can see the faint light of the campfire. Though the campfire light comforts me, it does remind me man is here. This day and age it’s hard to escape the long reach of mankind. I soon see headlights coming down the opposite hill. It’s my bride and our oldest. They carry supper into the cabin and totally miss the Happy Birthday! sign the youngest boy and I hung up. The puppy is barking on the front porch at the monster in the woods, but her tail starts wagging when she realizes it’s her big brother, our youngest boy.
We put our gear up as my bride explains we are having smoked hog meat tacos. She also explains we were out of taco seasoning and salsa. I said, “good thing about cabin eating is you learn to get by”. We sit in the one room cabin and eat a meal from meat we harvested. As the conversations flow, I drift back to the one room cabin we had when I was a kid. Mom and dad rented a one room cabin with electricity but no running water for $200.00 a year. It sat on a small river in the middle of nowhere. My memories of that cabin have kept me paddling when being an adult is not much fun. Before I knew the real meaning of death, cancer, war, growing old, and watching a great nation divide. Even back then time seemed to slow down at that cabin.
As supper ends the youngest boy is dropping little not-so-subtle hints we need to get momma outside. My approach to most things is direct. I ask my bride outside and shine the flashlight up to the Happy Birthday! sign. Even in the dark I can see her smile. She says, “You guys remembered.” As we walk back in the cabin the youngest boy is breaking into the cooler for the single serving chocolate pies we bought at the dollar store. We live 25 miles from town but about 5 miles away is a dollar store. The youngest boy and I went there before our evening hunt and bought the chocolate pies, a wooden wick candle, and a pair of women’s sleeping pajamas bottoms. My bride’s actual birthday gift is still in transit, which I’m sure like everything else is due to the virus.
Once the chocolate pie is gone, we sit in the cabin and talk. The oldest is sitting in an old chair given to us 20 years ago by a friend. My wife put gorilla tape on the seat cushion to keep the guts from coming out. The oldest boy, still in his soccer clothes, sticks out like albino deer. He is talking about the truck he is going to buy and his soccer practice. The youngest boy is sitting at the kitchen table I made from boards from my parent’s farm and this farm. He is talking about his baseball tryouts and how many kids are trying out. My bride and I are sitting on the sofa and the puppy realizes this is the place she is allowed on the furniture, and she jumps up between us. Without hesitation we both start petting the puppy. The one room cabin is illuminated by the battery powered lantern and one flickering wooden wick candle from the dollar store. The faint smell from the candle fills the room but does not cover up the cabin’s lumber smell. I give my bride the gift from the dollar store. She smiles and says, “I can use these.”
At that exact moment, time absolutely stood still in that one room cabin. No blaring television, no radio, no smartphone stuck in anyone’s face, and no light from a computer monitor. Every screw used to build this place, every board, every nail, it was worth it all. I sat and soaked it in like I do the sun on cool mornings on my perch. We, as a family, made time stand still.
For some folks, anniversary dates are huge triggers. Some good and some bad. I once wrote, the mile markers of our life are the births of our loved ones and the deaths of our loved ones. It seems when time stands still it is not by our doing but more from an event our mind cannot process. We stand there with concrete shoes on as the world seems to keep moving, but our world is on hold. It gives us an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. By the time we figure out how to unlace those concrete shoes, we have acquired a suitcase or backpack to carry full of vivid memories of the day that time stood still.
I watch my bride and oldest drive up the hill from the pond. She has laundry to wash and bills to pay. The oldest boy has homework to do. I turn out the lantern on the front porch and get ready for bed. As I crawl into bed the youngest boy says, “thanks for the good day dad, love you.” The dollar store wooden wick candle flickers on the ceiling as I fall asleep. We as a family made time stand still. The suitcase or backpack is not filled with horrific events that we struggle to process. It’s filled with a memory that will help us when those concrete shoes get too heavy to walk on this pathway we call life.” WLV –
