I have a theory about time. It is derived from when I was a child, when time seemed to crawl, achingly slowly, toward Christmas. The same happened when we had children and they thought that Christmas, or their birthday, or finally going to school with their siblings was just too slow to imagine it ever arriving.
My theory goes something like this. When you are four years old, a year represents 25 per cent of your life. That’s a long time! When you are 16, it is 6.25 per cent of your life — there is hope you will finally get out of school. Now when you are 50, a year is a measly 2 per cent of your life. No wonder it flashes by in a blink. You’re swilling green beer on March 17 and next thing you know, it’s summer and the kids are out of school.
In fact, at this stage of life, it is slipping away so quickly that I am thankful for anniversaries. Mr. Einstein was right. We need to measure the change that occurs in our lives. If it weren’t for the little celebrations we mark throughout our lives, we could get to the end and not remember a thing. Celebrations rule, so I say bravo to Camana Bay for celebrating its 10-year anniversary!
Ten is big. For every 10 years of wedded bliss, you get nice stuff, like diamond jewellery. It used to be tin but commerce decided to up the ante. Twenty is platinum (used to be china — you can see a trend here). Thirty is diamond again (maybe bigger ones), 40 is ruby, 50 gold, and guess what? Sixty and you get another diamond if you are still alive.
Ten in a kid’s life is major. And of course, since we so carefully considered how to mark a year that represented 10 per cent of our twin lads’ lives, we remember it well. After careful consideration, we chose the messy-tasty combo that is irresistible to most young chaps. The pie-eating contest was a hit. A parent just makes sure that it takes place outdoors, and that there’s a pie for each child. Keep it simple. Fill your pie plates with cherry pie filling, top that with whip cream, put them on a waist-high wall (the pies, not the kids), tie the lads’ hands behind their backs and let ‘em rip. Have a camera ready and don’t forget to tie up the dog (known to partake). I do recall some of the chaps breaking free and pies being tossed, but hey — I remember it! It remains stamped like a giant footprint in my brain.
If I live to be a hundred, my theory on time would suggest my 99th year will be a blur, but I hope I can look back and still glimpse the cherry pie — and maybe a diamond or two.