By Clyde

Contributing columnist

Time was, thing came to an end — drop cords, hose pipes, spaghetti, a ball of twine, spool of thread, tube of toothpaste or the end of a plain stick.

Some things matter. For some, we come to the end of a journey, era, term or season or the final chapter of a book, story or our lives.

Some things we are glad to see come to an end, such as a thunderstorm, final exam, dentist visit, bad dream or an argument.

Timorous times cause us to stop, step back and take a look at where we have come this year or all of our years.

But who’s counting.

Is it the best of times or the worst?

“Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit,” says Ecclesiastes 7:8.

Find time to write a journal, replant a tree, start a garden, get a few chickens, regroup, collect your thoughts, put the cows out to pasture. Go sort out your socks and underwear. Never say never means more the older you get. It’s timely advice.

Don’t let things get to you — buzzers and horns, no knobs on TVs, keys and alarms, switches, clickers, plugs, ballpoint pens, magic markers and aerosol cans.

Gadgets and the whole gamut of electronic devices make our lives simple? Ha! That time has long gone. A time to remember before telemarketers.

“When at last we say goodbye, shall it be with sighing or with hope undying when at last we say goodbye.”

In the sweet by and by things come to an end. The end of the line on the railroad, the house at the end of the road, our lives as just children, the finish line of a decathlon or the denouement of a play.

The end of a loaf of home baked bread was the best. It’s the end of a hot dog. Customers at Hap’s seem to leave the last bite and roll it up in the paper.

Yankees think we are still fighting the civil ware and it has not ended. Obviously, they don’t have a southern heritage to love.

Ticking clocks never end. They just wind down without you to crank with a key every other day or 36 hours.

Time was slipping away. You can’t stop it.

Keep winding those clocks.

Time was, we said goodbye

“The weight of this sad time we must obey; speak what we feel, not what we ought to say,” goes the line from King Lear. We knew the extent of night and day. We never know exactly what to say at a funeral.

The end of the year or an editor’s retirement gives cause for reflection of the time that was, the good times and the bad as well as the time that was gone, time that was lost or found and time to do something good for somebody.

It was time spent or wasted.

Time after time, repeated, but we never learned. Or, better, it was time well-spent.

They say, if you lean on the former courthouse that’s now the Rowan Museum building, you will always return one day to Salisbury and you will never be forgotten.

These identical pillars have cast their shadow on the human forms of each and every Salisburian whose name has been recorded and preserved within its hallowed, plastered walls.

Time was, and we were here.

Shakespeare’s “The Tempest” gives this writer an excuse, stating, “But release me from my bands. With the help of your good hands. Gentle breath of yours my sails must fill, or else my project fails, which was to please.”

Clyde is a Salisbury resident.