The Clocks are Wrong!

The clocks are wrong. There is no way I could be consistently late by 8 to 15 minutes for everything. It must be the clocks.

Either that or my internal clock is off – maybe because I don't think of time in the same way as most Americans.

In Malawi, punctuality is a foreign concept. Literally. The British introduced it. Eight to 15 minutes means nothing in a community without clocks. Of course, I lived in Blantyre, the commercial hub for the south. And I attended a British school. Those prefects and teachers didn't do late. Still, punctuality was a veneer, a uniform we wore for school, a suit for the office. The remaining time we measured by social convenience rather than clocks. If it took longer to prepare for a party, so be it: one arrived later. If one met a friend on the way to an appointment, one chatted. You couldn’t be rude so you were delayed. As long as you arrived sometime, you were OK. This was called Malawi time.

In University, the first time I lived anywhere but Malawi, I can't remember if time was an issue. If it was, it was swamped by an ocean of other issues.

For my two full-time jobs, punctuality was optional. As long as I finished the job, it didn't matter when I did it. Church was another matter. I usually arrived in time for the sermon. It helped that I was a single mother in Minnesota. Everyone assumed it was too much for me to prepare the baby and myself on time. True, but I imagine that my internal clock didn't help. I somehow missed the lesson on time management. Fifteen minutes before nine meant I had time to sweep and write a last minute check before church. I always forgot I had to put on coats, haul the car seat and baby to the car, and drive the 10 minutes to church. I imagine many people were secretly annoyed at me all the time.

In Antigua, I fit right in. Eight to 15 minutes late is standard. In fact, one could depend on meetings starting 10-20 minutes late. I managed to be only 5 minutes late for swimming and football lessons (British teachers, you understand). Fresh from England, my friend Cindy almost gave up on me several times because I was 10 minutes late for a beach rendezvous. However, on Sunday, I actually arrived before most of the congregation most of the time. Time is a little more fluid in Antigua. This is called Antigua time.

Now I live in Oklahoma. As far as I can tell, time is not fluid here. When Scooter's piano teacher invites him to a party from 11am-1pm, she calls at 11:20 and asks if Scooter is alright. If he is alright, why isn't he at the party yet??? Oops. I thought he could arrive anytime between 11am and 1pm. If school ends at 2:30, I am supposed to be there at 2:30, not 2:45. I'm still working on that one.

I have to readjust my internal clock. It isn't a simple dial I can turn or a button I can push to compensate for daylight savings time. I have to change the way I think about time. I have to consider time a priority. I have to put everything in a time perspective. And that is where I run into trouble - it just feels wrong to give time precedence in life.

A Pain in the Back

I just returned from the physical therapist. I gave up the “push through the pain” strategy and went in hopes of returning my life to normal. By normal, I mean moving without the fear of shooting pain, exercising without pain killers, running when my daughter decides to lead me a merry chase through the parking lot.

Yes, she did that on Sunday afternoon at the football complex (oops – soccer – you know what I mean). She played with her friends, within sight for most of the game. She was wearing a bright pink sweater – easy to spot. Right at the end of the game one of her friends asked me, “Do you know where __ is?” I stood up and looked around. A few minutes before she was playing with her friends across the pitch, next to my friend Trish. Now, Boo wasn’t in sight and neither were her friends. Boo's friend and I walked around the pitch, searching. I asked Trish if she had seen Boo. Yes. She saw her and her friends wander after her oldest son towards the toilets. Trish and I walked quickly in that direction, hoping they hadn’t ventured to the toilets on their own. We separated to circle one of the pitches between us and the toilet. The next moment, I saw Trish dashing through the parking lot, waving her arms madly. I glanced behind her to see her children and Boo’s other friend on the side of the road by the parking lot. No Boo. My heart pounded faster as I imagined what Trish saw just out of my vision. My daughter under the wheels of a car. My daughter climbing into a stranger’s car. “Lord God, protect her.” But I couldn’t run. In fact, with the stress of the moment, my back tensed and I had to take shorter and shorter strides to compensate for the pain. I thought, “Thank God Trish is here.”

There was no accident, no abduction. The children left Boo at the toilet by herself. She had to cross the busy parking lot to return. Trish could see Boo hesitating at the side, poised to cross, but unsure when to go because of all the traffic. That is when Trish waved her arms. She yelled for Boo to stop and wait. What a relief to see Boo safe and walking towards me hand in hand with Trish! I would have bent down and squeezed Boo if I could. I felt like kissing Trish on both cheeks, but that isn’t done here. I had to do with thanking her (and God) repeatedly.

So I went to the PT today. I have hyper-mobility, especially on one side of my back. As I understand it, this means my facet joint moves too freely or pulls apart or something when I take too long a stride, bend without using my knees, or roll over in bed without using my abs and gluts. When this facet joint catches (or whatever it does), it causes inflammation, which tends to affect the rest of my back, neck and head. It also creates some kind of arthritis, but that, as I understand it, is either a normal part of aging, or can go away if I can control the original problem. I think. (My sisters will probably roll their eyes and groan at this explanation. It’s true - I didn’t get the medical gene in the family. I have to blunder along with a very hazy understanding of all things medical.)

What to do about the original problem? I have to constantly remind my daughter to stay by me, tell me where she is going and with whom, or haul my husband along so he can chase after her.

As to my back, I have to add a couple more stretches to my daily back exercises as well as resume other exercises. But I have to tone them down. No more rigorous laps of butterfly or breast stroke in the pool. Squats, leg lifts, lunges – these I have to do in the pool, gently! The PT also put me on a regimen of cycling, as long as the bike allows me to recline slightly, and has a back support. I think she gave me a speed limit too. At least until the inflammation is gone and I have increased the stability to that region of my back. Worst of all – no pain killers! I have to know when I’ve pushed myself too far so I can reign myself in.

May I repeat myself? Growing old sucks!