The freshly baked challi my wife just removed from the oven fills my nostrils with an almost tangible aroma, and from it I can know the time of day, the day of the week, and unlike a dog who’s wagging tail indicates excitement; mine will be expressed in words, a touch of the hand, and eventually - after a blessing - it will enter my mouth to feed my eagerness to taste it. 

Age is a 6th sense that leads us towards understanding what the other 5 (real) ones give us to to observe.  It’s a universal truth gifted to us all like unwanted hair - only as we age.  I overheard two people (my senior) the other day commenting to each other the way people do when they have nothing better to say; that time accelerates as we get older… 
No argument there.

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 Fiddling with the radio of my 12 year old Subaru lands me on 740AM/JIB Radio, and to ’Those Were The Days’ cutting through the monotonous windshield wiper and the crackling static of the AM band.  The familiar words feel like traffic signs posted along the snow covered road.   Last time I heard this song it was at a Bar Mitzvah party in 1970, and then when it played - to me - it was more of a parody; written for kids to mock their tipsy parents as they stumbled onto the abandoned dance floor.  Today it is turning the morning drive into a 1958 episode of ‘Twilight Zone’ in which the character of Martin Sloan portrayed by Gig Young finds himself stranded (due to car troubles), a walking distance from the time and place frozen since his childhood.

   
It never occurred to me that one day the 13 year old would hear it in a snow storm causing time to stand still for a moment lasting 46 years.

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