Barbara J. Hamby

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Time on My Hands

Recently I heard myself humming in the shower an old love song, “Time on My Hands.” I started wondering when the last bit of time on my hands occurred in my life. I stopped wearing a timepiece about a year ago, but that?’ a side issue.

Since I became an adult, I don’t remember ever having time on my hands unless I was ill. As a child, I may have had spare time, but I usually had a book in my hands whenever my eyes were open. In childhood, time seems endless to most of us.

Many don’t realize until late in life, how short and valuable time is. While I was easing into retirement from paid employment ten or fifteen years ago, my awareness was raised, and I wrote a verse called, “Endless Time.” The opening and the theme of the poem was my wish to reclaim all the time I formerly wasted putting things in proper places, dusting, scrubbing, etc. In retrospect, during the first thirty years of my adulthood, I spent much of my time and energy attempting to keep the wolf (aka bankruptcy lawyers) from the door, to keep husbands out of trouble, and to keep food on the table for my children.

At fifty, for the first time, I was able to apply my efforts toward accumulating a few luxuries and attaining a comfortable lifestyle. Those goals seemed worthy enough to fill most of my waking hours. Filling a “dream home” with all the stuff I ever wanted, and some I didn’t even know I wanted, just wasn’t as satisfying as expected. Weaving through and cleaning a house, garage and basement stuffed with stuff didn’t provide fulfillment.

Speculating about whether anyone under fifty has time on their hands today brought to mind the many unemployed or under-employed who are so discouraged by rejection they may have given up the job search. They may have unstructured time.

At nearly seventy-six, I revel in the luxury of hours unclaimed by bosses, spouses, children or needy friends. When the spirit moves, I write, shop, walk, swim and even clean house or yard if the spirit nags enough. If Morpheus coaxes me to nap, I acquiesce. If my companion suggests a cruise, or a drive through the Sunbelt when winter storms surround us, I start packing.