Countless in These titles mean nothing.

39,420,000
Thirty nine million, four hundred and twenty thousand minutes.

That’s my life, rounded off.

I got the idea from the short story in my second New Yorker, the one with the blue cover with the Booth cartoon about the dog waiting for his master to come home. Dog looking at clock. Three minutes later dog looking at the clock. Three minutes later dog looking at the clock. Three minutes later dog looking at the clock.

Story was by a man named Crystal - I can’t find the magazine and I’m too lazy to research it. But the point really struck me. Man in the story was in his seventies, younger than I am, but not by a lot. He had calculated the number of minutes he had lived. His number was more precise than mine. I just multiplied 75 by 365 by 24 by 60 to get the 39 million etc number above. I only did it once so I’m not even sure it’s that right. But I remember the number from the short story was in the thirty some millions. I was surprised at that. Seems like a lot of minutes doesn’t it?

In the story the man felt his life was wasted, mainly because he couldn’t seem to remember much that happened. There were 39 million minutes and he could only remember a few. Then the story started to list them - the things he remembered, even if he didn’t remember much.

I was taken by the story. There are times in my life when I think I’ve lost whole decades but I don’t suppose I really have. I must remember something from each decade of my life.
1st - I went to country school.
2nd - my mother died
3rd - I had my kids
4th - we moved back here
5th - I lost my right breast
6th - I lost my husband
7th - I lost my job

Those aren’t really correct. Some of those things happened in the same decades and some decades didn’t have anything happen. But still you get the idea.

So if I remember minutes......

New York magazine had an article about a limousine accident in which a great number of people were killed. It was one of those stretch limos and it must have been full of people. I haven’t read the article. But. It reminded me of minutes on the New Jersey turnpike. Minutes in which I was as scared as I have ever been. It wasn’t a limo limo, it was more like an extended van and it worked with hotels to pick up people and take them to the Newark airport to get on planes. I had been at a work class in Princeton New Jersey by myself for a work week. It was a Friday afternoon. I was responsible for taking care of myself. For getting somewhere and somewhere and other somewheres, all at the right times, and I was on my way to monster airport to find my airplane and my seat and get myself to another monster airport to do the same thing over again and then I believe my husband was meeting me at the the third airport of the day. It was mid to late afternoon. I was sitting on the left side in the back. I had my baggage and my plane ticket and who know what else I had. I was scared shitless. The limousine was late picking my up. It was being driven very fast through very fast, very crowded traffic. I had no control over anything. I was just along for the ride.

I made it of course. I’m here aren’t I? But I remember being as scared as any time in my life. Later summer 1989.

Another minute, just a year or so ago. Another fast traffic freeway. This time the one that goes over and through Cedar Rapids. It wasn’t there when I lived in Cedar Rapids. Traffic then was manageable. There were a few rules to learn and then you could go where ever you wanted with very little stress. But this was one of the trips I made with my brother in his little silver BMW three thousand something - I intended to remember its ID but it never quite stuck in my mind. We were on our way home. My brother was a very capable person, a good driver, a person you could go anywhere with. That limo driver was no doubt capable too. Cedar Rapids isn’t like New Jersey but still it was rush hour and people were sliding across lanes with what seemed to me to be magic carelessness. So fast. So close. I did not want to distract my driver. I wanted to live through it. I remembered I had an orange in my pocket - left over from a convenience store stop that morning. I got the orange out of my pocket and peeled it and ate it.

Those are minutes of my life I remember

Last updated January 22, 2022