Time is a Greased Pig

     When my kids were little they entered the local pet scramble at Homecoming.  We were still by nature city folks and this event where a couple of dozen little kids chased terrified baby animals all over the arena was quite an introduction to country life.  We thought that was pretty exciting, but the following event tipped the excite-o-meter even more.  It involved kids trying to catch a pig that had literally been greased.  They kept flinging themselves at this squealing little butter ball, getting what seemed to be a secure hold on it, and then watching it squirt out, leaving them lying in the dirt and whatever else is on the floor of an animal arena.
     I've been officially retired for 16 days, though I keep telling people I won't feel retired until all the kids and staff go back to school in August while I'm still sleeping in, and what do I have to show for it?  My lawn is still in need of a mowing.  The landscape project isn't any further along than it was 16 days ago.  The new front window project hasn't even been started.  Yet, I have been busy.  I'm beginning to feel like time is very much like that greased pig, always squirting out of my grasp just when I think I have a good hold on it.
      It's not just retirement, either.  I can't believe I am almost 60-years-old.  How did I come to have kids who are 34- and 32-years-old?  How did time get away from me like that?  I know this is not a new question.  Just listen to any country music station for an hour and you'll hear this theme sung about several times.  But it's much more surprising when it's personal.
     I've been reading up on this whole retirement situation on other blogs.  Everyone seems to have an opinion about how to manage retirement time.  Make a daily schedule.  Don't tie yourself down to a daily schedule.  Make long-range plans.  Live day to day.  It appears I'll have to figure out how to get a good hold on that greased pig on my own.
      If I may wax philosophical for a moment, and I may since it's my blog, the whole concept of time is a little frightening to me.  It's not something that can be literally latched onto, like the fifth and one-too-many-pieces-of pizza.  It can't be seen, smelled, touched, heard or tasted.  Yet we presume to measure it with a complicated and partially random system of measurement [365 1/4 days I understand, but the rest is somewhat arbitrary, though not without reason].  Maybe I shouldn't be so surprised at my inability to control it.
     I'm pretty sure part of my problem is a lack of commitment.  My heart really isn't into time management right now, so I just do what I feel like doing all day and then lament the greased pig getting away one more time each evening.  Maybe in August I'll do something about that.
     I did do something spontaneous the other day.  I noticed that the sunset was going to have a nice glow to it, so I grabbed my camera and drove out to Jackson Valley Road, set up the tripod and snapped some pictures of an old building and some cattails.  I guess I had a hold on that pig for about 40 minutes.