I’m a pretty bad judge of time. I think it’s been a week since so-and-so happened, but I find out it’s been a month. That can be bad if I think the bill arrived a few days ago, but really, it’s been a few weeks. Here is a phrase I truly believe whenever I say it: “Honey, I’ll be done in five minutes.” I think she’d rather hear a more accurate, I’ll be done in one hour,” than a misjudged shorter period of time. I’m especially bad at judging garden time.
My wife picked me up at the Metro after work a while back so we could drop by Smith to water it. That’s all we were going to do that evening. After the long string of August-like rainless broilers we’d had around here, poor Smith needed a drink, and a little weeding too. Well o.k., maybe more than a little weeding. I understate weeds like I underestimate time. So my wife watered while I weeded. Actually we both watered, since she had found a second hose.
Some time later, driving away, I asked how long we’d spent there. About an hour, she said. It could have been ten minutes or three hours as far as I was concerned. Gardening insulates me from what little sense of time I do have. I’m never really ready to leave the garden, even when I’ve finished whatever tasks needed doing. Didn’t I just get here? It can’t be time to leave, yet.
About a week after that I went to water Smith again. I decided to admit to myself that watering alone takes one full hour. Add weed pulling or harvesting and suddenly I’m at 90 minutes or more. Maybe setting my expectations will help me judge the time better. The trouble is I could say to myself I’m going to go water, but once I’m there it’s too easy to putter around in the garden, pulling weeds, tying back or training plants, even just admiring all the growing going on. As soon as that happens five minutes gains weight and becomes fifteen, then fattens up a bit more to thirty and soon I’m a goner.
