When I get to heaven, there’s a thing or two I intend to ask St. Peter. Heading that list will be the question of time. I want to know what happened to it. When I was a child, the days between Thanksgiving and Christmas lasted longer than eternity. Today, I’m panicky if my Christmas shopping is not complete by October.
Time-saving devices now surround me. I can prepare a meal in minutes with my microwave oven. Dirty dishes get popped into the dishwasher. My giant-size washer and dryer make laundry a breeze. But a Murphy-like law of inversion is at work: the more time-savers I own, the less time I have.
Reluctantly, I am forced to admit that age might have something to do with the problem. Time no longer stretches endlessly in front of me as it did the summer I was nine. I’ve come to terms…
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