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blizzard warnings - 13:52 , 03 October 2013 heelerless - 21:32 , 18 August 2013 Red Coat Inn in Fort McLeod - 11:38 , 23 June 2013 rushing into the waters - 09:53 , 21 June 2013 choosing a spot - 17:43 , 27 April 2013 |
ten years seemed so long back then
I remember looking at the empty book and thinking, 'This will take forever.'
I mean, who looks at a 10-year project, even a hobby, and seriously thinks they'll get it done.
But today, it is.
Yesterday, after my embarrassingly glowing performance review, the boss suggested I drive over to River Town to go shopping.
For a safe. Don't ask why.
No safe suitable for our needs to be found in that town, but I took the opportunity to grab a rare Arby's lunch/dinner.
And received my first Hawaiian state quarter in my change.
And just like that, I'm done.
My collector's book of quarters is full.
Ten years.
Ten years ago, most of the nation (but not I) was terribly concerned about the sexual antics of the man in the Oval Office.
Like that had any effect on our lives, our nation, or our standing in the world.
Now, 50 quarters later, we are all holding our breath in anticipation of finally getting our dignity back after eight years of real crimes being committed at that desk.
Fifty quarters ago, our economy was going great and steady, producing this unheard of thing called a "surplus".
Fifty quarters ago, "9-11" was something you taught your kids to dial. Little did we know our eyes would tear up when the New York quarter finally came out, and could be pressed into its cardboard circle with the others.
Fifty quarters ago, our boys were still boys. With worries about lost camping gear and learner's permits for driving. Now we worry about their career plans, car loans and even mortgage payments.
Fifty quarters ago, the wife had a totally different job. And now her new career may take her higher in the ranks than my own (if not in pay).
Fifty quarters ago, the heelers were young pups, bounding with energy at every drop of a hat, or jungle of a key. Now they're both on daily pills to keep their joints flexible, and hunting seasons need to have several days off a week.
Fifty years ago, this journal did not exist. Nor, I suspect, did many other "blogs". Now there are literally millions out there, some leading the way in journalistic endeavors.
Fifty quarters ago, satellite images were expensive, complicated to order, took weeks to retrieve and were cumbersome to use. Now they're a click away on the internet, or downloadable on your phone.
Fifty quarters. They came crawling to us, one every couple months or so. Worse than a snail's pace.
And yet, now they are all here.
Time just flies.