When Bayley was in elementary school we would talk about time and Bayley time. She seemed to operate on her own internal clock which had no regard for any input outside of her. My mom was pretty much the same way, maybe even worse and always made me wonder if there is a time gene in that whole genome study. If there was, I got the Z side to the A that was my mom or vice versa.
Lucyle would be late for Mass, late for parties, late for class, and, she was the teacher! Sunday morning Dad would be ready, dressed and in the living room, back when Mass was only on Sunday. He would patiently wait, and when we would walk in late, Dad was okay with that, seemed okay with that. He loved Mom and he was excellent in loving her.
Me? It drove me nutzy! And I saw the impact it made on others who were waiting for her, besides Dad that is. And I know it shaped my own timesense, how I look at time, what I do with time and how I value time for myself and for others.
My biggest struggle as an adult was, is, living in the present. Because I lived with Mom’s singular timesense, and for years was ruled by it, I look at time as a commodity and something to value for others. I have no clue if Mom cared or even realized how her own sense of time, or lack thereof, went down with those in her social circle. I know at school, Mother Amadea, the school principal, never worried about Mom’s class. Those kids wouldn’t be caught dead doing something wrong, ’cause Mrs. Hannick’s soft voice and deadly stare was terrifying. Well, maybe not so much to me, but to others, well, yeah!
Every once in a while I wondered if Mom was embarrassed by her lack of timeliness. She’d give that little giggle and she’d be this very charismatic person and people would forgive her. I also disliked that. If you were on time, there was no need to be in someone else’s forgiveness. But, it didn’t seem to bother mom.
Last Monday, because we rarely set an alarm now that Tom’s retired, we had to be out of the house by a certain time, get the dogs to the groomers for their monthly bath and then to the CPA who is doing our taxes. I’m dashing around, trying to get something to eat, getting the car set up to transport the puppies and Tom is brushing his teeth, shaving, showering, dressing and getting the dogs’ food ready. I’ve done all that, well not the shaving, and sorted the laundry, made the beds, gotten the newspapers and he’s just putting down the dogs’ food. Sigh.
Bayley got a double whammy on that time gene, the A, or Z, from both a grandparent and her father.