I was thinking this morning about the effects of time. Not just on people but on objects. It fascinates me.
When I was a kid my Dad drove a 1975 GMC Sierra half ton truck. We called him Norman, (the truck not my Dad). Single cab, no backseat, just three seatbelts, (not like we used them). A gun rack mounted across the rear window.
The interior was dark brown and all of the areas that were plastic had a textured appearance. Little squiggles imprinted in the interior, I suppose the designer thought would add to the ambience. But the spot where he rested his left arm up on the edge when the windows were down, was completely worn flat and smooth. It was a small oval shaped area no more than six inches in length, and it had all that texture in the plastic flattened right out and gone. From his arm.
I remember looking at it and touching it. How was this possible? How could one man within a lifetime, much less ten years, with one arm resting there, cause that area of the plastic to become smooth like that?
I noticed this same thing and was equally fascinated by it, when the rough bark on the black poplar trees would become completely smooth, from the cattle just passing by too closely. At times, the cows used these trees as itching posts. But still, how could such rough and deep crevices in the bark become so smooth?
Little by little I guess. Day by day, hour by hour.
It’s something I’d love to watch on a time lapse recording. Just so I can see it unfolding before my eyes.
My thoughts on a long life are very pragmatic and unromantic. Life is about quality not quantity. Anyone who disagrees needs to go spend some time in a long term care facility and see for themselves that a beating heart and a mouth being fed does not equal life.
bloom.planted.north 
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