Thoughts about Food Caching (and Time)

I truly admire some of my friends who plant enormous gardens and manage to “put up” a sizable cache of jar upon pretty jar of garden fare to last their families through the long winter months.

I truly admire some of my friends who plant enormous gardens and manage to “put up” a sizable cache of jar upon pretty jar of garden fare to last their families through the long winter months. Here is just a small sample of what a few friends have posted on Facebook.

While I love to plant flowers, I’m not the greatest at growing veggies. Aside from occasionally freezing enough rhubarb to bake a mid-winter pie or two, I do very little in the way of setting aside food for later.

In God’s world of creation there is a bird known as the Acorn Woodpecker, who has a unique way of creating caches of food for future sustenance. Take a few minutes to give this YouTube video a watch and you’ll see that his caching habits are a fascinating demonstration of one of God’s most creative bankers.

The creatures God made often teach me a lesson about life. The Acorn Woodpecker got me to thinking about time, of all things. I’m envisioning my day as my own personal tree trunk with little tiny pockets, each meant to contain one of 1,440 minute-shaped bits of time. While many of those pockets are already filled with the necessary things of life like sleep, meal preparation, laundry and such, I still have plenty of empty spaces. My investments of time go into those little pockets, and the quality of each investment I choose to deposit in my time bank is almost entirely up to me.

The difference is that I can’t cache time and save it for later. It’s only given to me one moment at a time. Sometimes I think about the fact that I’ve already lived almost 64 years of my life and that those years seemed to have flown by. I have no guarantee of tomorrow (or the next breath), but should God grant me another 20 years (or just a day) of life, I pray that my minutes will be spent doing what matters. There is a song that plays on my Christian radio station quite often on my way to or from work. It’s called “Keep Me in the Moment.” Tucked somewhere toward the middle of the song is this verse which challenges me as I contemplate my use of time in my one go around in this beautiful life.

When I wake up in the morning, Lord touch my heart
Don’t let me stray, I just wanna stay where You are
All I got is one shot, one try, one go around in this beautiful life
Nothing is wasted when everything’s placed in Your hands

Jeremy Camp in “Keep Me in the Moment”

Measuring Time

This is my mother’s watch.

Momma undoubtedly bought several watches during her lengthy nursing career. But, as she often recounted the story of her watch, she had been wearing this very watch since she graduated from nursing school in 1955. You see, a watch with a sweep second hand was essential in my mother’s era of nursing. It kept you and your doctor on schedule and kept you accountable for the time you spent on breaks. When updating a patient’s medical chart (no computers back then), it provided the time for documentation purposes. Its sweep second hand was the essential tool momma used day in and day out to measure a patient’s heart rate in 15-second increments of time.

Holding my mom’s watch in my hands today, I recalled how meaningful it was to her, even after my mom could no longer tell time (which I wrote about here). A mind clouded by Alzheimer’s loses the ability to measure the passage of time or interpret the face of a watch somewhere in the middle stages of the disease’s progressive march through the brain.

Even after my mother could no longer tell time, I invested a good bit of time in finding my mom’s treasured watch when the paranoia of dementia would cause her to occasionally hide it for safekeeping. I had the band resized when she slimmed down and it spun on her wrist. I even took it in for repairs once and replaced the battery on several occasions. The natural motions of her body would wind the self-winding watch (another clue that it was NOT from 1955), but Momma would wind it anyway because that was what she remembered doing in days gone by. Over time, this damaged the watch beyond repair, but she still loved to wear it.

When my mom moved into assisted living memory care and I saw how she would distribute her things all over the building (and borrow the belongings of others without consent), I decided to take her watch home with me for safekeeping. I hated to take something that was hers, but the story of the watch had also become something I treasured. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to matter much to mom — especially since her friend and BeeHive neighbor Roy didn’t seem to mind if mom (ahem!) borrowed his watch from time to time.

One day I noticed my mom sidle up her wheelchair to another lady friend at BeeHive. She seemed concerned that her friend was slumped in her wheelchair. Here’s the precious thing I was honored to witness with my own eyes. Momma reached over and gently placed two fingers on her sleepy friend’s wrist, instinctively finding that arterial sweet spot nestled between the thumb and tendon. The nurse in my sweet mother looked at her watchless wrist as she felt her friend’s pulse for about 15 seconds, then smiled with satisfaction and patted her sleeping friend’s hand as she said, “You’re going to be okay.”