If you came to this blog hoping for a post that commemorates the first dropping of an atomic bomb on a city, head over to this older blog post. I am in that mind space where I feel I have fallen out of time: is it Saturday? If not, why am I here and not somewhere else, getting ready for work? Is it really August? I went outside to take a mid-morning walk yesterday and went back to get a sweater.
I am in Williamsburg this morning. I worked a full day at the hospital yesterday, then got in the car and drove 6 hours to Williamsburg. I could have made the whole trip and been home by the time the day settled into full darkness, but I was stopped by a drawbridge.
I had a lovely view of sunset colors, but it made the last half hour of the trip rather harrowing: winding country roads, very dark, headlights behind me, oncoming traffic occasionally.
The fact that I was in my 14th hour of wearing my contact lenses exacerbated my night vision issues. Still, I wonder about my car's headlights. My car did pass the safety inspection on Monday, but I need to see if my headlights really are O.K.
A clever blogger would tie these vision issues and illumination issues and Hiroshima anniversary into a poetic post, but I am not that blogger this morning.
Instead my brain is whirling, trying to remember what day it is so that I remember to log on for the today's Education training day in the life I left behind. I am making a grocery list and kicking myself for not thinking about bringing some pantry staples like barley and lentils--but congratulating myself for remembering to bring a variety of tea and a pitcher to make a gallon of iced tea.
Let me remember to savor this time, even though I am here for a non-social visit, by which I mean, we'll be mostly housebound. If there's one lesson to come out of Hiroshima and a thousand billion other historical events, it's that life can change in an instant, and we often look back with yearning to the before times
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