I saw B reading a book the other night and I asked if it was any good. It was a book from a series that he's been reading for quite some time so I assumed he was enjoying this one as he had the others. I was correct, he did like the book. Usually, at this point, he tries to convince me that I should consider reading it as well. This time, however, his response was, "I don't think you'd like this book, Dad." I could sense he was waiting for me to ask why so I complied. He grinned and replied, "It's got time travel." He knows me well. He's heard me spout off more than once about how much I detest books and movies with time travel. Apparently, he's somewhat amused by it.
It's not the theoretical possibility of time travel that bothers me. I won't pretend to understand any of that. I just don't like it injected into a story. It either makes my head hurt as the plot falls into weird chicken and egg scenarios where the future drives the past back to itself or it just cheapens everything. How can any character ever truly be in danger if there's always a chance someone from the future will come back to save him? How can you have a mystery? Let's just go back in time and watch the butler do it. Or better yet, let's go back and stop him.
I'd rather not live my life thinking that the current moment exists ad infinitum, availble for perusal should someone be interested. I need my moments to cease as the next one begins. Like a flame burning down a candle's wick, my life moves ever forward at a steady, constant pace. There is no jumping ahead or jumping back. This is not to say that I don't consider the future or the past. I have dreams and plans for what may yet be and cherished memories of what was. But I live only here, in the present.
Sometimes, I can remember something so acutely that it does almost feel like I've traveled back in time. The other night I was out walking and the sound of the snow crunching under my boots reminded me of walking across the farm yard at night as a kid. For an instant, the details were crisp. I was maybe eleven or twelve, carrying an empty bushel basket. The trip was fleeting, but I guess, in a sense I did travel back in time.
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It is amazing the things that trigger memories, especially very vivid memories. The other day I was listening to my iPod and Imagine by John Lennon came on. I suddenly remembered when I bought the album and first listened to it. I was sitting on the front steps listening to it through the screen door. It was early June, perfect summer evening. I could actually smell the cut grass and hear the far off rumble of an approaching thunderstorm.
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