A Suspension in Time

A suspension in time at the bar at Marriott Resort Waikoloa in Big Island.

Who among us has not wanted to create a suspension in time, to freeze the forward movement that marches on whether we like it? I am sharing the photo above with you because it illustrates such a moment, captures motion and stops it from moving, just for one second. You can see the Hawaiian musician over at the left staring at my lens, maybe wondering why this California tourist was snapping photos at random at the Marriott Resort Waikoloa in Big Island with her iPad, although perhaps he watched me do a video of his acoustic introduction to Hotel California, or maybe my hair was on fire? The guys at the bar, bonding, perhaps plotting an evening, seemingly too innocent to drink beer; was I ever that young? If I were an artist I would paint this photograph and sell it to a museum.

This suspension in time could be anywhere in the world, but it happened to be at my hotel just before I left Big Island. It looks like the couple over on the right at the back of the bar are shooting a selfie. What did we do before we could point cameras at ourselves to capture our own moments in time, to create our personal suspension in time, as lopsided and goofy as they may appear, and then feel obligated to stop all social activity to upload and share with the world on Instagram or Facebook? Nothing any of us do is all that important unless we’re saving world hunger or finding a cure for cancer.

In case you’re wondering what all of this is about, yes, this Sacramento Realtor is back home in Sacramento. Back home where there is no suspension of time because it moved on while I was away. The trees are bare and leafless now. Why don’t my Land Park neighbors put their piles of leaves in the can like we do, as there are piles of leaves neatly stacked in front of most houses on my street. How trusting we are they won’t blow away. The grounds are damp, sky gray, wind calm. I spot a summons for Sacramento jury duty on the dining room table; the Court will probably throw me in jail for defiance because no matter what they say I think the defendant always looks guilty; it’s almost impossible for me to presume innocence. I’m honest to a fault almost.

Our cats were lined up at the door last night when I arrived home with my husband. Sticking their noses through the open screen door. I thought maybe they were excited to see me after 3 weeks away, but instead they were wondering where my husband had gone at this late hour of the night and who was that woman with all the scary luggage? Cats detach so quickly. I don’t know if they want to punish you for going away or if they truly have moved on without you and it takes a while to forgive you for that abandonment, to feel comfortable again allowing you into their space, because don’t think for one solid moment that you are the queen of your own castle because you are not. It’s the cats, and it’s always been the cats. Nobody ever told them they could be living the life of the cats at Waikoloa Canoe Club.

While on the plane hurtling 35,000 miles above earth, inhaling a slight scent of jet fuel (I love the smell of jet fuel, if they bottled it as perfume I would wear it), I began to read Amy Poehler’s book, Yes, Please. An interesting chapter, one page actually, is titled Reasons We Cry in an Airplane. Reason #6: We feel like time is suspended and therefore we can feel real emotion without consequence. A suspension in time.