Lost Time

Lost Time

Noel Laflin

8-19-15

I lost my last working wristwatch on the evening of January 7, 2015 in the Taiwan Taoyuan International Airport.  Don’t press me as to what time it was precisely, as I no longer had a watch.  But I’m certain it was nighttime, at least in that part of the world. 

All I can surmise is that it must have fallen out of my jacket pocket, where it had been hastily stashed just prior to passing through the security checkpoint.   And although I had always been fond of that old, inexpensive Swiss Army watch, since it had traveled with me as far west as Asia and as far east as Africa when I was a younger man, I got over it.   After all I reasoned, I had at least a dozen other watches back home.

However, I have yet to strap any one of them back on.  Glancing at my wrist, I now take pride in noting even skin tone on both arms; not a tan line in sight.

The fact that each and every one of those watches scattered throughout my home is in need of a new battery is the most convenient excuse for no longer wearing a timepiece.  But the simple truth of the matter is, I no longer need a watch.  I have no pressing appointments with clients nowadays, having retired that time-consuming life a year ago; nor do I really need to know the time as I wander or bike through the neighborhood shooting photos or talking back to noisy parrots.  Like ancient man, or even the wild, colorful parrots perhaps, the sun is now my time keeper - as is my belly.  I head home when I am either hungry, hot, cold, or out of daylight.

Now, I did find a very cool old pocket watch lying at the bottom of a box of knickknacks out in the garage.  It’s pictured here, as a matter of record.  But it too no longer runs.  It probably stopped working half a century ago.  In fact, I can’t even recall how I came into procession of the ancient timepiece.  It could spell me a story or two if it could talk I reckon and probably has a nice loud ticking sound to accompany its telling of timeless tales if it did work.  But alas, it does not.  And even if I did fix it, where would I place it?  I’d need both a snazzy fob and a sharp looking vest for starters, and just how ridiculous would I look dressed in nothing more than cargo shorts, flip flops and fancy fob and vest?  No, I think not.  That old teller of timeless tales is staying at the bottom of the box in the garage.

Meanwhile, the man with no tell-tale sign of a wristwatch tan line on either arm has already left the premises, peddling aimlessly out of the garage, down the driveway and off in search of something interesting to photograph.  He’ll be back when either the sun goes down or his stomach begins to rumble.

You can watch for him then.