Cicadian Rhythms

Dearest Rachel –

Often, when I lack a topic to talk with you about first thing in the morning, I try to come up with something to say during my workout (hey, it beats actually working out, truth to tell – and even if I’m actually into the whole ‘pushing weights around’ thing of a given morning, there are only so many reps I can do before I need to rest my arms before starting in on the next sequence), either on my way to the gym or during those necessary pauses between repetitions. Much as I’d like today to be one of those days, I’m still having trouble coming up with a solid topic of discussion.

This wasn’t something I had to worry about back in the day. A discussion between two people doesn’t require even a paragraph of solid, cohesive thought – let alone an entire essay – before the other person jumps in and carries the conversation that much further. And you could carry a conversation so much further than I could; it feels awkward to be trying to hold up my end and yours these days, and still have it make sense to anyone reading over your shoulder. There are a few things going on this morning that might be worth commenting on, perhaps, but nothing worthy of an entire letter. Still, I can’t abide the silence any more today than any other day, so here goes…

It’s kind of funny that I’m putting in nine to five days these days, only they’re in reverse; what with the boys hanging out in the family room, I’m calling it a night at nine or thereabouts (yes, I could stay up that much later and watch one video after another, but some days you’re just not in the mood for that), and consequently waking up by five, whether I want to or not.  In a way, it means I can get started on the day that much earlier, but for the most part, it just means I can dawdle that much longer.

Still, I was out the door and on my way to the gym before seven, anyway.  And as I was pacing over the sidewalk, I came upon what looked like the carapace of a cicada. Which was weird, because they’re out of season by nearly a year.

But it got me thinking about how I’ve used them in the past to measure certain increments of time.  There was a point after I graduated from college when I was trying to write up my impressions of various people I’d met there – particularly in my last year – I’d even given it the working title of “Year of the Cicada,” because that’s what I’d come home to.  I didn’t get far on writing those memoirs (if you can call them that), because as a part of doing so, I’d come to the (fateful) conclusion that of all the people I was going to write about, there was one in particular that I wished I had spent more time with, to the point that I would have done well to spend the rest of my life with her – and now I wouldn’t get the chance, because that opportunity had come and gone.

Of course, I’ve told this story from many different directions a number of different times; you know who that was, and you know how that worked out for the two of us.

Ironically enough, although I arrived at this conclusion in the year of the cicada, you only had to deal with their once-every-seventeen-year invasion once in your life. I don’t know if they made the same kind of impact on your hometown as they do up here; I think you were surprised at how many of them came out of the woodwork, so to speak, up here. Certainly you can remember how, in the summer of 2007, they were so prevalent (and loud!) during that summer as to all but preclude outdoor conversation.  But by the time they returned again last year, you were already long gone. 

And that’s the way things go in life; there are certain things that make their appearance on a regular basis, but that are so infrequent that, while we think we’ll see them again, that’s not guaranteed to us.  Some are more obvious like, say, Halley’s Comet; we would be very lucky to be able to see it more than once in our lives (and if we did, like Mark Twain, we probably wouldn’t notice it either time, being either too young or too old).  I found myself wondering if I’ll be around to see them return in 2041; theoretically, it should be well within the realm of possibility, but I honestly don’t know what shape I’ll be in by then.

It was at this point that I decided to take another look at that cicada shell, given that it was so far out of season. Upon further inspection, the carapace lying on the ground proved to be nothing more than a small pine cone, presumably mangled out of recognition by sidewalk traffic. So much for all those musings, eh?

Then again, just because I wasn’t looking at what I thought I was doesn’t make those thoughts any less true.  Pine cone or not, time still flows on its intermittent path, and there are some things we see on a regular basis that we may not see again, even though they will be back at some point.  Call it a circadian (cicadian?) rhythm if you will, but we have to remember that we are not guaranteed a ‘next time around.’  I’m not sure what to do with that information, but I have it, and I have to pass it on.  Not that you need it anymore, but maybe those reading over your shoulder could benefit.

In any event, I need to get on with my workout and the rest of the day. So keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.