I lament, not in some cheap ploy at pity, but rather to create a sense of camaraderie.
I do not believe that I lament alone; quite the contrary, as I feel myself tipping slowly over the falls, I realize that there are many standing in my same boat.
I lament for the math that no longer adds up, the number of chores and tasks and tugs on my life divided by the 24 hours in a single day and the stark realization that there is only one entity called me.
I wear two hats at work but wait, there’s someone on vacation so make that three.
There is grass to be cut and a column to be written.
There is an inspection due on the car and a reminder on the phone that the doctor appointment is tomorrow.
There are members of my golf league who actually want to know who won and lost their matches each week.
There are lessons for the children and an annoying expectation that they will be fed and groomed each morning before arriving for school on time.
There is the meeting at three, the awards presentation at 7 and tucking in at nine.
How can I miss dinner after dinner, night after night and still gain weight?
There is a wife that for years now I only see in brief changing of shifts, in a kiss goodbye here or a “food’s in the fridge” there as we run a two-person corporation charged with raising Bremner children.
When was I getting my hair cut?
There are emails to be mailed, messages to be texted and cell calls to return.
And no, I don’t know where it is right now so please find it for yourself.
I lament not in search of pity, but rather in search of a common thread.
I realize that the preacher is aimed squarely at the choir.
So take a moment to lament with me, mourn a quieter time and a slower pace.
But only a moment, for that’s all the spare time we have.