Time flies like an arrow, Groucho Marx said, and fruit flies like a banana.
But seriously, folks: Where does the time go?
We often find ourselves asking that question, and no more frequently than this time of year — as the busy holiday season approaches and our New Year’s resolutions to have more free time fade like frost on a warming November morn.
Fifty years ago, when the futurists of the mid-20th century looked ahead to this age, they foresaw an America of people with delicious amounts of time on their hands.
During the first week of November, you’ll notice a difference between people who live in town and people who live in the country. Those of us out in the boonies invariably have a giant bowl of leftover Halloween candy on our counters, a harsh reminder that we can’t draw a good trick-or-treat crowd.
A friend was recently in town for a visit. He’d just returned from 20 months with the Peace Corps on the Caribbean island of St. Lucia. Before that he’d been a student at Middlebury College. And before that, he’d grown up in Kansas. Now the trees in St. Lucia don’t have a season for shedding leaves. College students are not required to do lawn care. And Kansas doesn’t have many trees — just prairies, yellow brick roads, and ’70s rock bands.