Tempus Fugit

Tempus fugit.

That, my dear readers, is Latin for "time flies."

Today is Friday, July 19, 2019. Another regular work-week is about to come to an end. Just a few days ago it was Monday. Where did the time go?

My mom, about 10 years before I was born, at Laguna de Tota in Colombia. One of my cousins says he went there recently and found that the boat in the photo at the top left still exists. 


Tempus fugit.

Four years ago today, exactly, it was a gray, rainy Sunday afternoon. My mom had died in the pre-dawn hours and by seven-thirty in the morning the people from the funeral home had come for her body. The last time I saw Mom at our townhouse in East Wind Lake Village, she was being wheeled outside on a gurney, with a train of people that included my older half-sister and two of her cousins. The nurse from the Catholic hospice trailed behind, no doubt eager to get home after spending 16 hours keeping a watch on my mother. I sat on the edge of the sofa, too tired to even think and too angry with my half-sister to tag along to the funeral home with her and our mother's earthly remains.

Tempus fugit.

Six years ago today, I was going about my duties as a caregiver to my bedridden mom. The passage of time has erased some of my memories, but since July 19, 2013 marked the start of the three-day series of events connected to the South Miami Senior High School Class of 1983's 30-year reunion, I was both excited and worried. Excited because I was going to the reunion and was looking forward to getting out of the house. Worried because I was leaving Mom to the tender mercies of my half-sister.

Tempus fugit.

31 years ago today, I was in the process of getting clothes, a portable battery-operated typewriter, and other items for my upcoming Semester in Spain trip to Seville, which was scheduled to start with my first transatlantic flight at 6:30 p.m. on September 20, 1988.

Tempus fugit.

50 years ago today, I was six years old and living in a nice apartment (or was it a house by then?) in Bogota. Colombia with my 40-year-old (she would turn 41 in October) mom and my 19-year-old half-sister. I had been keenly following the flight of Apollo 11, the first mission to land on the Moon, and was looking forward to watching the coverage of the landing on the 20th.

Tempus fugit. 

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