Gary North

October 10, 2009

One week ago, I attended the reunion. I do not recall any week going by this rapidly.

This may be because of the memorable nature of the event. I had prepared for it for months. The intervening days were filled with the same routine events -- unmemorable.

I am reminded of the ticking of the clock. There will be few other events of equal significance in the dating of the years. There may be none.

As it recedes in my memory, I know that I will recede in others' memories. Maybe something I write will remain front and center, but I won't.

I think of the great actors of the golden age of the movies, 1939-59. Most of them are dead and gone. Their shadows still amuse us, but they are forgotten. Even if a few are still alive, they are forgotten as individuals -- all except Reagan, who was not in the top tier.

The clock sped up for me in February of 1959, as I sat in that classroom, eating my sack lunch, and wondering if I would win the election. I recalled the similar lunch in that same room a year before, waiting for the outcome of an election. There seemed to be little time in between. That event was a wake-up call.

Maybe my clock has sped up again.

So much to write, so little time.