Missing It

I pulled up the Foo Fighters montage from David Letterman’s last show and got all choked up. If you missed it, you can watch it here:

 

The rapid fire images from 30 + years of the Letterman show – most of which I never saw – still touched something within me.

Letterman’s NBC show started while I was in college and his switch to CBS occurred while I was a young, single radio reporter living in Columbus, Ohio.

I had watched his show some in my youth, but honestly it’s been years since I have tuned in. These days I am usually in bed asleep by 9:30 – so an 11:30 show is just not on my radar. Even last night, the lure of the “final show” didn’t tempt me to stay up late.

But I’ve read the news stories and listened to the interviews with interest and, even though I haven’t actually watched in years, I still feel nostalgic and misty-eyed for some reason.

I pulled up his website today and watched a few of the clips, including the Foo Fighter montage.

A lump formed in my throat as I watched the images flash by.

Maybe it’s because, in a way, these images represented my own life. Not these exact images of course.  As I say, I missed most of them over the years.

In reality they represented something bigger – the passage of time.

The same time all of those things were happening, all those episodes of his show, all of those moments with celebrities and stupid pet tricks and crazy stunts – the same time all those things were happening, I was alive and breathing…and doing something else.

I was living my life.

In many of these flashing images, Dave is young. His guests are young – just starting out in their careers. They are as I remember them from back when I watched once in a while.

The images and this montage reminded me that I – along with them – have also aged.  My life has been ticking along, too, albeit not to a Foo Fighter soundtrack.

The montage represented the passage of time.

The passage of my time.

People say they will miss David Letterman.

Honestly, I will, too.

But since I’ve been missing his show for the past couple of decades (because I am an early-to-bed-early-to-rise kind of gal), I won’t really miss his show.

I’ll miss the idea of it.

The idea that something that’s been there for more than half my life would go on forever.

The idea that anything (or anybody) in life would.

Five Minute Friday: Follow

Toy trains surround a circular track - with one train and caboose in the center(So, I’ve been participating in a “writers’ flash mob” of sorts called Five Minute Friday. In response to a one-word prompt, hundreds of writers sit down and write for five minutes flat. No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font or punctuation; unscripted and unedited. Here’s today’s edition…setting the timer….)

Five Minute Friday: Follow

Go.

Life is not a train track.

On a train track, one thing follows another in a pre-ordained pattern and path.

The track directs the flow and provides a set path for both the leader and the followers.

The engine follows the track and the others follow the engine.

Life, thank goodness, provides a wider opportunity for motion and progress.

In life, each can lead – sometimes; each can follow – sometimes.

The track’s trail is not the only way to arrive at the destination.

Successful arrival depends more on the desire to arrive, than on a static route of steel.

For this journey, it is best to follow your heart.

Stop.

Thomas the train with red caboose. Four other trains in background 

Five Minute Friday: Door

(So, I’ve been participating in a “writers’ flash mob” of sorts called Five Minute Friday. In response to a one-word prompt, hundreds of writers sit down and write for five minutes flat. No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font or punctuation; unscripted and unedited. Here’s today’s edition…setting the timer….)

Five Minute Friday: Door

Go.

My bank in Mainz, Germany had a set of automatic sliding doors at the top of a set of steps, with another set of automatic sliding doors at the bottom of the steps as you entered the lobby area.

Every time I went through those doors I felt like a character in the old TV show “Get Smart” – I could hear the theme music echoing in my head.

(For those of you too young to remember that show, here’s a link to the opening. You’ll see. That theme song is a true ear worm once you’ve heard it.)


Cathedral front doors stand solidly beneath intricately carved stone archways – depicting saints and sinners and apostles and pilgrims, cherubim and seraphim.

Every time I go through such a door I feel overwhelmed by the vast expanse of human history – at once insignificant and yet honored to experience the holy space.


The door at our son’s preschool had an electronic bell that sounded when you opened it.

Every time I opened it to leave after dropping him off, my heart would sink.

Every time I opened it to pick him up, my spirit would sing.


Then there is the door to our basement.

I am an early morning person – generally the first one up and moving.

I love the mystery of that time of day…the quiet…the dark…the stillness.

Here’s a picture I took of our basement door one Thanksgiving morning. Golden light glow leaking out from the four edges of a door ajar.

I love this picture. It makes me feel like an awesome adventure is just around the corner…something bright and wonderful… just on the other side of the door. My very own Narnia.

Stop.