Every year I think summer goes too quickly. But this summer is passing with very alarming speed. In July, I asked where June had gone, and it was a sincere question. Now next week is August and BlogHer '11 and the week off I thought was so so far away and then after that the little angel will be back in school, and I'm sitting here staring at the calendar vaguely remembering trips back to Iowa and fireworks and watering plants and a few languid afternoons treading water at the swimming pool and little else -- it's an actual blur.

I sometimes wonder what's happening to my memory.

Clearly the problem is rushing. When I rush, I don't really live in the moment. I started out summer doing a great job of not rushing, but in the ensuing months, life happened and it all went ass over ankles out the window.

I had a dream last night I looked outside and it was sleeting. In my dream, somehow I'd missed my last chance at sailing and biking and Halloween and Labor Day and every fun thing about fall, and I was spitting mad that it was winter. (I hate winter. I try to be more loving toward winter, but it's a really tenuous relationship necessitated by my insistence on staying in the Midwest.)

I woke up angry and blinked and looked outside and realized it was already 88 degrees before 8 am, and I was happy about that. It is mind-meltingly hot, and it has been for weeks, and it will be 100 degrees today and 102 tomorrow and I'm GLAD. It means I didn't miss everything, and I still get to go to BlogHer '11 and then take a week off (blessed, sweet week off, I'll miss you Internet, but I won't be here the week of August 8 because clearly I need to live in the moment away from distractions) and have my end of summer. I still get to experience the evenings when the light turns gold and the air finally starts to cool off and the last few barbeques are enjoyed with friends and their end-of-summer, we-don't-really-tan-anymore glow.

This morning was all Marley's ghost for me. THANK GOD. I almost missed it.

Despite the fact that I didn't have time to do it, I met a long-lost friend for a chat today.

I was twenty minutes late because my GPS took me to a house seven miles from the coffeeshop.

I burst through the door, beyond stressed, to see her cheerfully sitting there waiting, looking as chill and summery as a blossom.

We ended up talking for about an hour, and as our conversation wore on, I felt my pulse slowing from the being-late thing and the never-enough-time thing and enjoying the breeze and the sunshine and thinking how wise this friend was with all she had learned over the past year.

We talked about our ex-mutual workplace and the trade-off between time and money. Sometimes money equals time and sometimes time equals money and sometimes, though very rarely, they have nothing to do with each other.

While I still very much like money, I like it mostly because it means I can pay someone else to do the stuff I don't want to do so I have more time. It all keeps going back to time. I want time. I crave time. There seems to be no time. How does that happen? I looked recently at how I spent my day and tried to figure out what I did that was unnecessary. I came up with watering the flowers. Of course, if I stopped, they would die, but then I have to figure out how much I value the flowers -- which I think is a lot, because they bring me happiness and a sense of accomplishment.

So really, not that much is unnecessary.

So I'm starting to think time is the new money. What do you think? Which is more valuable to you right now?

Is this because I'm getting close to forty?