Author: thegraymaniac

What matters?? Your family matters.

I often wonder how I managed to end up in the middle of so many wonderful people. Wife and daughter. Sons. Grandchildren. Brother. Niece. Nephew. All of them. Good people. Those they have chosen to love and share their lives with. Good people.

Lucky. Good Karma. Blessed if you want to say it. Doesn’t matter the adjective. The tag is immaterial.

I have wonderful memories with all of these, and more wonderful memories from those who are gone which bubble up when my tired memory is on slow simmer like it is today. Mom and Daddy. Grandparents.

On autopilot. With tired muscles and foggy brain. But with good memories.

So if you wonder what life is all about, you don’t have to climb Everest, or seek out a Yogi, or read Socrates and Marcus Aurelius or even the good book.

Just look around you. Close by. Your life is happening close by. It’s doesn’t have to be sought out like a mystery. Just has to be recognized and worked on. Cherished.

Reach out. Put down your phones. Touch. Talk. Feel. Live.

Do it.

You have only the day, today.

Regret is such an empty, hollow and dark tunnel. You don’t have to go there.

Our brains are extremely complex organisms, which are still largely unexplored in many areas. One area that intrigues me is the subconscious or unconscious thought process which takes place when we sleep. I guess most people call it “dreaming” There are dreams, and then there are DREAMS. I think they take many different forms and possibilities.

I surely wish I could remember everything I had ever dreamed. Sort of like having a little “hard drive” built in to my brain where I could push the “save” button every time I start to go to sleep. I also wish that I could dream some of the things I WANT to dream about. I wish we could dictate to our brains the “script” of what we want to start out with in our dreams, and let them go forward from there. One thing I really wish I could dream about is running.

I have been exercising quite a lot lately. I started about 5 weeks ago and I have worked my way up to 45 minutes on the treadmill at 3.1 mph and an elevation of 1.0 I know that’s not much for most people, but for someone who’s had two heart attacks, 4 bypasses and one stent….it ain’t bad. I still have to be careful and not let my heart rate get above a certain point, so there is one treadmill that I always use which has a really good heart monitor. So, I’m walking pretty quickly but not running.

I would just love to be able to run across the country, sort of like Forrest Gump did. Running on and on and seeing things that I have never seen before. Taking the time to appreciate things which I have never appreciated before. Chances are slim of me ever running again in real life. Not for very long anyway.

I have started sleeping better since I have been exercising, but I used to lay awake for hours previously.

My wife and I always listen to music at night, and a few weeks ago as I was trying very hard to sleep, I began to actually see the musical notes in my mind. I was listening to Enya I think, and on all of the notes I saw silver and gold patterns in my head. The chords were like sunbursts and moon glow. The voice of the singers, which was angelic in nature, flowed through my mind like a deep blue river, rushing towards the ocean. No, I was NOT on anything! This was dreaming, and it was the strangest and most wonderful dreaming I can remember in quite a long, long time. I wasn’t deep asleep; I was just sort of in a land somewhere far enough away from reality for things to be ecstatically good. I am not sure that I will ever get a repeat of the “unreal” concert. I didn’t want to “wake up” I finally snapped out of that vision…even though I could have stayed in it for a long, long time.

On a very rare occasion, I dream of times past and of people who are now gone from this life. You would think this might be a more common type of dream. But, for me at least, it is very uncommon. I think maybe you have more and more of the dreams like this as you get older, because more of the people you have loved and known in your life start to leave. I dream of my Grandmother occasionally, most of the time in the kitchen cooking! I can still smell the biscuits cooking, and in the back of my mind wish I had gotten her to teach me how to make them! My mind yearns for a trip back. For just one more day, as Mitch Albom has so sweetly expressed in one of his books. One more day to say things that should have said, but which I always thought I would have time to say.

I used to help my Grandma sometimes and it was during this period of interaction that I learned a great deal about here philosophy of life. A lot of hard work mainly, but a lot of love for life too. When she had here 100th birthday, I asked her if she had it to go over again what one thing would she do or not do. She told me simply “Worry less, because worry never did change nothing!” It still doesn’t Grandma, it still doesn’t! Since Grandma died…Dad and Mom have gone on also, and occasionally I still see them in my dreams.

It’s just a shame that we can’t step into these kinds of dreams anytime we want to, and visit with our loved ones who are no longer with us. It’s also a shame that we don’t realize that some of the loved ones who are still with us now, may soon be a memory. We should tell THEM the things we need to, before it’s too late, and we can only visit them every once in a while in our dreams.

I really haven’t had any BAD dreams recently. Nothing which I would call a nightmare, or anything even resembling a bad dream. My granddaughter who is now a High School Junior, used to have them. Occasionally when she was little and would spend the night, my wife and I would wake up with her standing next to the bed: “I had a bad dreams…” she would say sleepily as she climbed into the solace and comfort of our bed. “It will be OK” I mumbled. And, I knew it would. Most of the dreams we have, we never remember, and I was pretty sure she would not remember her bad dreams by the time she woke up in the morning.

Last night I was awake until 1 am in the morning, and I was wishing so badly I could sleep. I sneakily turned my Kindle fire onto Netflix and pulled up “Forrest Gump” and fast forwarded to the point where he was running out and back across America. By the time he said “Just like that, my running days were over…” I nodded off slowly and slept dreamlessly through the night.

I am older now, so sometimes I feel like I am. October 21, I’ll be 68, if I’m lucky. I’ve spent the majority of my days since December of 2010 around babies. That’s saved me.

I know that some days my wife and kids, my daughter in laws might beg to differ, cause some days I’m a little curmudgeonly. That’s putting it kindly. My nature is not that of a calm, cool and collected cat. I’m more like the long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs most days. But I do love my little ones.

Being around little ones, and taking care of them, from their infant days on up isn’t an easy thing. It takes consistency, patience, and me helping my wife…who’s the consistent, patient one. Throw in a couple of wiener dogs to boot, and you got yourself a pack.

Paula and I have done this because we were able to. We’ve done it because we believe Grandparents are better in the majority of cases to care for their grandchildren then nursery schools. I hear about kids being left in hot cars, or being abused and my blood boils. I hear from people who complain about the way kids act in public, and wonder if they were ever children, or were just born full grown.

I have had all of my grandchildren from the oldest down to the youngest one who can talk spontaneously, tell me “I love you Papa” just this week…just today from my three year old. And my little eight month old blondie laughs out loud at my teasing. What else could I wish for?

I wish for a world for these beauties to grow up in, which is not full of hate. A world which really does judge character, and not looks, or the little differences that all humans have. I wish for a cleaner world, without all the pollution…plastic bags and bottles. I wish for a world which does not judge or condemn whoever they may end up loving. I wish for a world with the opportunity for them to know happiness, as I have known happiness. I wish for them a childhood where they are not required to act as little adults, but can play and squeal, make messes with their toys, color, read books and have hugs when they get little hurts.

I wish for a world where they can one day make up their own minds about how they wish to live their lives. I wish for them to have compassion as on of their main qualities.

That’s a lot to wish for, a lot to hope for. I’m not sure how much of this I’ll get to stay and see, or to participate in. I’ll take every minute I can get. I hope all of my family both children an grandchildren will carry mostly the good memories we have had with them. Certainly, they haven’t all even been good, because I’m far, far from a perfect example. All of my “skills” at parenting have been OJT. It’s a good thing my group has had their Mom and Nana around.

I guess the best that can be said is that so far, they’ve all turned out to be pretty good people. That’s something unusual and worthwhile nowadays.

What I need most is sleep, but most nights it eludes me. If I get five uninterrupted hours of sleep in a night, I count myself lucky! Sleep dodges my grasp. I can more easily catch a grasshopper in an open field than to catch 40 good winks.

I cannot “turn my brain off” as my Momma used to say. The neurons fire and fire and fire. And worry creeps in and makes the situation harder. “Should I have done this..” “Should I have said this…” “Is so and so mad, are their feelings hurt?”

Aw dammit. Those are the kind of things my Grandmother and Mom would both say…and neither of them slept good either. I don’t remember my Granny ever sleeping over four hours in a night. She was up at the crack of dawn every day.

My Doctor asked me today, “Do you want something to help you to sleep?”

I said nosiree.

I take enough pills now to keep the pharmaceutical companies in the black.

I’ll just get what I get, and keep on thinking and thinking.

And nod off during the day if I get still for more than a minute or two.

I fear I may just be like Edgar Allen Poe: “Sleep, the little death…how I loathe it” he said

He must not have been able to turn his brain off either.

I walked around town this morning since it was not too hot. I thought a lot while I walked. Forrest Gump said that’s what he did while he was running out and back across America. Thought about things.

I thought first about how lucky I am. I am luckier than 99% of the people in the world. I’ve never gone hungry or been homeless. I had good parents, I married a good woman and I have a good family. I’ve lived to almost 65 years now (thanks to modern medicine and some good heart surgeons) and most days have been good days. I’ve been free to read the books I wanted to read, and to get into my car and drive anywhere in the USA where I wanted to go. The creator of the Universe has given me the privilege and opportunity to live this physical life in this physical world, and the ability to experience all my human emotions. What a wondrous thing!

I thought about all of the bad things which have been taking place lately. My wife and I were discussing this just recently, and came to the conclusion that lack of respect for other people and their right to have their own opinions, lack of manners and politeness, and lack of love, are near the root cause of many of these bad things which are happening. Basic respect, which my parents taught me, and which I taught my children is sadly lacking nowadays. Respect for life, respect for beliefs, respect for different cultures, respect for personal space, respect for the opposite sex, respect for people’s property. On and on and on….

As Aretha Franklin sang: R-E-S-P-E-C-T!!

I have a problem with people idolizing people who have no respect for others. When it comes to something such as say…politics…I would vote for a respectful candidate who I didn’t necessarily agree with over a disrespectful person who I agreed with 100%. Yes, I am at that point. Respect and manners are that important to me now. As I have mentioned before, the scene from “Lonesome Dove” where Captain Call runs down the Scout who had just hit his young son with a whip and nearly beats the Scout to death, only being stopped from doing it by Gus throwing a rope around him. “I hate rude behavior in a man” he sputters to Gus “I won’t tolerate it”.

I guess that’s where we come in. We need to be intolerant of rude behavior, ranging from saying the “f” word in public at the local gym in front of a group of people including women, all the way to the ultimate rudeness of murdering someone in cold blood, to everything in between. We do…not…have to tolerate it. We do not have to tolerate the rude behavior of any religion which causes hurt or death to other people. We do not have to tolerate behavior from people who are supposed to protect us, which leads to the harm or death of other humans. I submit that we have essentially the same right as Captain Call to protest this rudeness albeit hopefully in a less violent manner.

I cannot cover all the things I thought about. I wish sometimes I had a little tape recorder in my head. I’ve forgotten some arguments over the years that would persuade Clarence Darrow. I’ve let some of the most winning of song lyrics float off through the air. I’ve solved the problems of the world many a night in my hot bath (due to the great circulation hot water causes to the brain) but they have slipped away on the fluffy towel as I dry off.

Anyway, I am thankful for this day and revel in the life it provides. I want to continue with it a while longer in order to help as many people as I can. I hope everyone has a great afternoon.

Circa 1965-1968 When Music Came in Cardboard Covers

I had the record player on a table in my bedroom. Just a square boxy old thing, which had a latch on the front, and a handle on the other end. Portable record player they called it. It was a beige brown color and had one speaker across the front with this mesh looking stuff on the outside. You could stack about 5 of the 33’s on the spindle and you had to have a “converter” to play a goodly stack of 45’s.

There was nothing more exciting than bringing home a new record album. You went to the store…Redford’s 5 & 10 most of the time for me, and you would stand over the bin where the albums were stored and flip through them. Once, twice, three times. Only enough money for one, but which would it be? It was mid to late 60’s…perhaps 1967, and a cool cover of guys dressed in the Blue and Grey of the civil war caught my eye. It was a group called “The Buckinghams” and featured a song called Susan. I liked it, and bought it and took it back home. There was always a ritual of removing the clear cellophane and easing the white “dust jacket” out. Most of the time there were graphics and other photos on these too…and I always enjoyed just pouring over the pictures, looking at the names of all the songs, the credits, who wrote the songs. It took time, and if was fun.

I’d put it on the bottom of the stack and add a couple of my favorites on top…most of the time it was late afternoon in the Summer. The most gorgeous of times, with the sun coming in from my West facing window, and shining in filtered rays through the shafts of fine dust I had kicked up from my activity. I’d lay down on the rug in my room right next to the record player and for the next hour or two I would listen to the music, feel the music, and live the music. Right there in a three square foot space, I transcended the normality of the moment and exceeded any expectations I had for the future. Then the music stopped.

I got up and stretched and carefully took my albums off the portable record player, and carefully held them, carefully put them back in the dust jackets and stored them back in the cardboard covers. I put them in a box carefully and lovingly, knowing I would listen to them again in a day or two. Never longer than a day or two.

Those were tactile days. Days when music came in an enjoyable, holdable, seeable packages. Wonderful iconic images came from those days. Wonderful memorable music which I remember to this day and can still sing every word of every song.

Today, I mostly just pick a song off of iTunes and it’s downloaded on my phone. I don’t have time, or don’t take time to lay on the floor for an hour and listen to music. Mostly now, it plays in the background at night to soothe our sleep.

I really don’t get as much pleasure from new music as I used to…….and it’s hard for me to remember the words. Maybe because I’m in the late 60’s now, and the world has moved on to 2017 and left me behind.

I sometimes think, I do not believe in God. Yet I must. I cannot help myself. I must believe that each of us has a living spirit inside, which is uniquely ours and which was given to us and us alone. Nobody else possesses this tiny piece of creation.

It is ours.

I’m not sure of all the technicalities of this life we live. I feel like nobody truly knows the whole story. I don’t believe God wants us to know the whole story. We have our many religions and beliefs, and I won’t express any opinions about any of them. You believe what you want to, and I’ll do the same.

In the movie Forrest Gump, Forrest came to this conclusion:

“I don’t know if we each have a destiny, or if we’re all just floating around accidental-like on a breeze. But I think maybe it’s both. Maybe both are happening at the same time.”

I wonder if that’s true? I wonder too about our time here in this physical world. I’m almost 68, and so far, that is my time. It is my entire life up until now in this body. When my time is up, I wonder….where will that tiny piece of creation that keeps this body animated, moving and interacting go?

In September of 1970, my wife gave birth to our daughter Karrie Lynn. She only lived for two days. She was perfect when she was born, but got sick and died. The entirety of her life on the earth was two days, although my wife carried her inside for nine months. Her spirit was just the same in size and scope as mine, she just didn’t get as much time here. Does that fact decrease the importance of her life? Was it her destiny to only live for two days?

I think about it a lot, but I’m not sure of the answer.

If somehow after I die, I can interact with the spirit that was my daughter, I certainly want to do so. I don’t know how that interaction will manifest itself. It doesn’t much matter to me, as long as t does. I don’t think it will be as a father-daughter type meeting, but more of a spiritual reunification. I personally don’t think we will retain this “earthly” identity of what we were here. It would be kind of strange if we did.

Again, this is just my feelings on the subject. You can feel differently if you want to, it won’t hurt my feelings.

I also think that people who have lost children before they are born because of other things which may have happened, will have that same spiritual recognition. I think we will have that reunification with any and all people we have loved here, or have touched in some meaningful way.

A lot of people believe in heaven, but I’m not sure exactly the nature of that situation. Maybe it varies. I have no answer for that. I admire people who have the inscrutable and ironclad faith that there will actually be a physical residence somewhere where everyone who qualifies will gain entrance. I once believed it. But that’s not my belief anymore. Please don’t hate me, or pity me because of it. I’m not belittling your belief. I just don’t think that way anymore.

I do believe there will be more, but I think the total details will not be revealed until we breath our last breath here.

I still cannot agree with Jean-Paul Sartre though, and his existentialist view of man:

“at first, he is nothing. Only afterward will he be something, and he himself will have made what he will be. Thus, there is no human nature, since there is no God to conceive it. Not only is man what he conceives himself to be, but he is also what he wills himself to be.”

I believe we are something. I believe we are all very much something special and unique. That we are given that tiny piece of creation, and we are given the time in which to live it, no matter if that time is great…like my Granny Stewart, who lived to be 100, and who told me that the years were like days to her as she aged….or like my daughter, whose two days may have seemed like a full lifetime….. because after all, it was.

I look forward to each day. Every hour.

I sat at the table in our kitchen this evening and watched the birds at the feeders and birdbath.

The one, single lonesome hummingbird too. He is the only one who has come all summer long. He comes every day, regularly.

I used to see dozens in years past, but in a strange way just this single bird will suffice now. More than that…he will surpass. He will excel, because he needs the nectar from that bottle I have hanging up. I don’t see any good flowers off down in the woods. Just trees. I like to think I’m really helping the little guy out.

I saw the other day where somebody was saying in a post that feeding birds and other wild animals is doing them some sort of injustice. It’s keeping them from doing things naturally. Depriving them from their natural state of living.

I had to laugh, because when I see that one little tiny, green hummingbird come get him a drink every day, he looks happy as heck as he’s flitting off down in the woods.

He’s looking forward to every minute, every hour that he’s got here on this good Earth.

I don’t know how many miles I have driven in an automobile over my working years. Starting back in 1978 up until 2011, a period of thirty three years, I have worked “out of town” from where I lived in good ol’ Trion, Georgia. I have worked and commuted to Rome, Calhoun, Dalton, LaFayette, and all over Northwest Georgia for five years during the 1980’s as a Sales Rep for a Medical/First Aid company. I have logged a lot of miles in a vehicle. I may try and figure out just how many one of these days when I have a lot more time to work it out.

During the 80’s while I was driving, I listened to WSB radio out of Atlanta most of the time. At least I had it on anyway. I laughed and cried at Ludlow Porch many days. I cussed Neal Boortz and agree with him…about 75-25…you can figure out in which direction. A lot of times I just rode with the radio turned off. I sang the lead to most of the Broadway musical records I had listened to so often as a kid. My “Impossible Dream” rendition from the “Man of La Mancha” is still ringing loudly somewhere in the hills near Jasper, Georgia. I went through every song I every knew and then started writing my own. Back then there was no way to record anything while you were driving, so if I got a good melody in my head I would have to hum it all day long until I got home to my guitar and cassette tape recorder. I know I lost a lot of hit songs due to the fact that I had to get out of the car and work in between bouts of creativity.

I preached many a great sermon back in those days…quoting from every bible verse I had every learned…which was a lot of them. None of them ever saw print or the light of day, but some of them were pretty good.

I taught classes on history and anthropology while I was driving. I had conversations with myself about the meaning of life. I never solved that one.

I imagined myself winning the World series with a last minute home run, or dropping a putt on the 18th of the Masters to win the tournament.

But many times I would just ride along looking at the mountain scenery and think. Just think about things.

I guess I was just a poor man’s Walter Mitty, really.

I once won an all expense paid trip to Athens Greece for Paula and I on a radio contest based on one of the many “question and answer” games that were going around in the early 80’s. I heard the question while I was driving down the road: “Who was Ms. Hungary in 1957” We had just played the game the night before, and I knew the answer was Zsa-Zsa Gabor, so I hurriedly pulled into a service station which had a pay phone (yes there were pay phones back then) and called into WSB. I got through, was the correct caller, and they put my name in the “pot” for the grand prize drawing the next week. As I was driving home the day of the drawing, I had WSB tuned in and when they actually called my name, I just about ran off the road. I had been kidding Paula about where we should go when we won (it was one of ten cities in Europe) so when I pulled into ANOTHER pay phone and called her, she thought I was being goofy. It took a lot of convincing, but she finally believed me. We chose Greece. It was our second choice to Vienna, Austria…but we couldn’t go there because the only time we had to go was in October, and everything there was booked up for Octoberfest. We had a great time in Greece though…

And so I drove on……through the 80’s and into the 90’s. Paula and I got a job at the same place, and for almost ten years we rode out and back together to Calhoun. It was a great era. We took our lunch breaks at the same hour and ate out in Calhoun at all the fast food joints there, many multiple times. We worked with a lot of cool, friendly and iconic people…and a few asses. We got paid decent, and the benefits were super.

We had an hour’s drive home in the afternoons to “cool down” from the day’s work. We did a lot of talking, and it kept us close. Thinking back now, the place we were working was a great place.

They were bought out by a bigger company in 1999, and I had to start commuting to a different place again. So, there was 12 more years of driving out and back. First to Rome again….then to Dalton, Lafayette and Calhoun in that order.

The last couple of years, the drives were late at night, ending at home after midnight most of the time. Mom and Dad were sick in those two years…dying. I remember the night before Daddy died I was at work in Calhoun and he called me. He was bad sick. I couldn’t get off early because the third shift supervisor wouldn’t come in to let me go. He was an ass. When I did get off, I drove the back road from Calhoun to LaFayette at 80 to 90 miles an hour. Dad was resting by then, and weak. He knew I was tired, so he told me to go home and rest. I stayed there until nearly 2 a.m., but then I relented and went home. My Dad was a tough old man. Many times in his life he had stared death down and come through it still breathing, all the way from World War II, through two heart attacks, heart bypass surgery, botched appendix surgery which left an infection which would have killed many people. So many times he had toughed it out. But I got a call about 7 a.m. the next morning from my Dad. He told me his chest was hurting and to come quickly. Then the phone fell out of his hand and hit the floor.

Of all the miles I had driven over the years, all the many thousands of mundane miles, the near miss days, the three coffee afternoons to stay awake…out of all of these miles, the twelve miles from my house to Lafayette were the longest I had ever driven. I went fast…but even then, I didn’t make it in time. My tough old man had left sometime while I was in transit. The top of his head was still warm when I touched him and said goodbye.

No matter how many times I go back over that drive…the hurried one the night before and the more hurried one the next morning, I can find no solace in anything I did. Guilt haunts and haunts, and keeps on haunting some more. People can tell you that you couldn’t have done anything more, but you’ll never believe them. I never do and never will.

Shoulda, coulda and woulda….you put them in the furnace just like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abendego…and they just won’t burn….they’ll always come out right back at ya’.

I drove more miles after that. Seven more month’s worth of thirty miles over and thirty miles back, after midnight. My Mom faded away early in December that same year, but we were all at least there and surrounding her at the last. The anxiety, and the years of bad eating, and no exercise, and bad genetics caught up with me near Christmas of 2010 and my years of rolling up mileage came to a halt for a while. They cut me from Adam’s apple to belly button and put four new vessels in while a machine was pumping my blood. At one point in the first few days, I hurt so badly I thought about just letting go. But…my youngest son was in the room with me right then, and I didn’t want him to be a witness to it, so I decided I’d live.

I have made a come back over the past few years though. With Eli and Rue to care for, I moved back into the main stream of life a few steps at a time. Those babies and Paula brought me through the next year after my heart surgery, although my memory is sure spotty. They helped keep me busy and moving. It was a really good thing.

Now, for the last year or so, I’ve been riding up to Woodstation and picking up baby Evie and bringing her back down. I started to listen to NPR again, and many times playing tunes that Evie likes. And I think. I think a lot. Sort of like Forrest Gump did when he was running. But, unlike Forrest, I’ve started walking and doing a lot of thinking, instead of running. While I’m walking…and driving I notice the beauty around me.

The sunrises and sunsets, the animals, the kids and grandchildren, all sorts of buildings, and beaches, clouds and rocks….pretty much everything.

If you’ve seen my posts, you have seen the pictures! I take them to freeze that one moment in time for eternity. For others to see the things I consider beautiful and worthwhile. I write of things I hope will inspire, and I am trying oh so hard to steer clear of turmoil….although nobody’s perfect.

I’ve made a physical, and mostly emotional return to living.

I appreciate my life. Do you appreciate yours?

I know one day my walking….and driving days will be over, and while I have some regrets, the joys I have, and have had far outweigh the sorrows. The people I share my life with, who I call my family, give me purpose and love.

I am one of the lucky ones. Very lucky.

Call me blessed if you wish….I don’t care.

I saw an advertisement today on a television show, concerning one of their upcoming shows. It was about what happens in the last 7 seconds before you die. It piqued my interest a little. What does happen? Of course, nobody knows.

Yet, I wonder. First off, I wonder why they chose seven seconds. Not five or eight, but seven. Seven, probably the most holy of numbers in religion. Don’t believe me….google it. I could copy and paste an entire page on the holiness of the number seven. I won’t.

In an existential way, I don’t wonder “what” happens during those last seconds, I wonder “how long” those last seconds last. I compare that thought to St. Thomas Aquinas’s conjecture about “how many angels could dance on the head of a pin”

Stephen King kind of touched on the subject too in his “Dark Tower” series of books. If you haven’t read them, it’s a difficult but worthwhile endeavor. All of existence hinges on a particular rose and what exists there…the nexus of time and space and size all play a big role. Go read it.

How big is an angel? How big or small could they be if they really exist, and if the creator wanted them to be a particular size?

How vast is space, how tiny are we? How big are we, and how tiny are amoebas?

How long is seven seconds, or even the last second of a person’s life? Could be elongated to last an extended period of time for the person who is dying? Could one second of our time, last long enough for a dying person for them to “review” their entire life before they breath their last breath?

Could one second last an eternity to them?

I might try to catch that episode of Dr. Oz just to see what they have to say. Of course, I have my own “weird” ideas….as you can see. But, who knows? Who can tell?