Rajka: PAJAMAS AND BATHROBES

 

I am walking through majestic halls of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, looking for a special exhibition of European clocks.  Entering the exhibiting room the first object that catches my eye is a “Grandfather’s Clock” very much like my own.  My grandfather gave it to me as a wedding present.  I am waiting for a fat couple to move so I can read about my Grandfather’s clock.  To my surprise I learn that the

pendulum was discovered by Galileo Galilei in the 17th century.  Ever since the

pendulum is beating in its own rhythm marking the passage of time.

 

 

 

I do not feel like seeing any more exhibitions. Instead I will sit on the steps in front of he museum.  Outside is a slow moving, unpleasant humid afternoon promising to stretch for ever.

 

 

 

 I know that as much as we would like to stretch or shorten the passage of time to fit our needs, we cannot.  We have to accept certain designated time periods:  Morning, noon, afternoon, and night, adding up to, what we call, 24 hours a day. That is it.  Nothing you can do about.  You keep looking at the clock deceiving yourself that you are in control determining “how much time” you have “left” to do something. The pendulum is ticking in annoyingly steady precise movements.  When you are in a rush, you keep glancing at the clock more and more often .You are getting more anxious and feel like taking that clock and throwing it out of the window.  You know that it would be stupid and change nothing.. “I am running out of time” you say.  What an illusion.  It is not time that you are running out of but your acceptance of real time.  You have no choice but to succumb to men- made time slots for most of your “daily” activities.

 

 

 

“Can we help you with something?”  The voice cuts through my musings.  This time I am not daydreaming.  I am trying to concentrate on something else but myself.  Looking up I see an odd looking couple.

 

 

 

She is short, long curly chestnut-color hair and slightly plump.  Not overweight, just pleasantly plump. A kind of plumpness that makes you want to squeeze her and pinch her cheeks. 

 

 

 

He is everything she is not.  Tall, skinny, with a crew cut.  You would probably just walk by him without any desire to do anything with him.  Yet they are standing above me, holding hands and smiling.

 

 

 

“No, thank you.  I am just waiting for somebody.”

 

 

I look at my watch. The long humid afternoon was only 45 minutes long.          

 

 

                                

The museum is closing.  I feel foolish just sitting there. It is time to get up and not wait any longer.

 

 

 

I am going to make myself coffee with a touch of brandy.  Then I will cuddle up with my pajamas and warm bathrobe and read about Gallileo Gallieli’s  discovery of the pendulum. There is only one unpleasant thing: I do not like the color of my bathrobe: sage with green, blue and brown polka-dots. I will take my favorite soft blue blanket and wrap myself and the ugly bathrobe with it and listen to the time as it goes by, announced every quarter of an our by the pendulum’s swing.