Editorial: The Time Machine

Have you ever read or watched “The Time Machine” by H.G. Wells? In the 2002 movie, there are timelapses of rapid change when he is inside the time machine. Innovations pop in and out of frame as humanity flies forward in time. The TV show “Futurama” has done a similar bit in some of its episodes.

I wish I could watch a timelapse video of the Banner building’s history or of the downtown square. The evolution of the news printing process is interesting to me. The advance from hands-on to digital… lead type to PDFs… or of dirt roads to pavement, horses and carriages to machinery and cars. From lamps to electric light, historic buildings bear witness to the rapidly-changing seasons of time.

Can you imagine what someone from 1870 would think about our smart watches and Wi-Fi?

I’ve been saying for a while that it seems like life is moving too fast. Maybe it is that I realize how much time is slipping away; or maybe it is that time has evaded my efforts to make it stand still. Like a bandit on the run, it slips from my grasp. I look around and my parents are a little older, my children have blown past two clothing sizes, and my husband and I are meeting new birthdays with fresh aches and pains.

Every day I get closer to seeing our kids’ faces all grown up and it is both heart-warming and devastating in the same moment.

I had mentioned in a previous editorial that time is an interesting thing. We think of time as linear but events from the past happened in the same place you are standing right now.

Just moments ago, my grandmother was sitting in her favorite chair in her home, but now the furniture has all been rearranged, some of it was divided up, she’s gone and her granddaughter lives in her house now. Christmas looks different, but the room is the same place.

That is the most gut-wrenching thing about time: they were here only a moment ago, but it has been years.

Three generations of my family have worked at the Banner office (four, if you count CJ telling mommy and daddy to “get back to work!” — “Umm, excuse me, little man?”). I never knew my paternal grandfather, but my dad’s office used to be his. I worked with my grandmother for years. Her desk hasn’t changed much, but the occupant has.

That’s another thing about time, if you knew what something meant to someone, your perspective changes, you remember them in the small everyday moments; but if you are too far removed from it, separated by death and birth, it is just another place.

History is critical information in our collective story and only by understanding and listening to the stories can we gain a better appreciation of what came before us.

Life is temporary. We must make the most of every day.

This editorial is dedicated to the memory of James L. Washburn who died on February 18, 1985 at the age of 57.