Like Sands Through an Hourglass.

Why yes, I was briefly addicted to Days of Our Lives in the era of broadcast television.  My grandmother and my sister used to gossip on the phone about the Hortons and Bradys of fictional soundstage Salem, and frankly, I wanted in.

Plus the daytime drama fit perfectly in the timeslot between the noon and 2 pm shuttle runs when I was a cheerful first mate on Captain Alva's  shellkeyshuttle.com in Pass-a-Grille.

I barely remember the storylines, engrossing as they seemed to be.  One scene lingers, an uncomfortable bit with a stalker and a victim and the screen fading to black over an eerie recitation of Yeats' "When you are old and grey and full of sleep,/And nodding by the fire, take down this book,/ And slowly read..." 

When I consulted my sister, she remembers several literary moments during that era of the program. I imagine one of the show's writers gleefully setting gems she'd mined from her education into this lowbrow, La-Z-boy throne of American culture. 
​
Still, it's the tagline that really sings. 

I reference it frequently when looking at a calendar.  

​We've already swooped past Midwinter Regatta season. A photo recap for your reading pleasure:

Other sailing events have dropped over the horizon: we helped run an ACat regatta, Jeff sailed the Round the Point race, as well as squeezing in an IC37 regatta in Lauderdale and a full-moon race.

​The sands of time sure do hurry through that hourglass. 

Which means, as tumbling grain follows tumbling grain, it's nearly time to check on the Would-Be Farm.

To each season its own joy.