Here’s the deal: Occasionally we all naturally muse upon time as it passes, and about time as it repeats and reoccurs. Echoes in time. Holidays. Phases of the moon. First days of snow.

I knew a guy who spoke of Sept. 21 being the usual first-frost date in Ithaca, New York. Other guys in other gyms and towns have also remembered or remarked upon special days.

Days, let us admit, can also be relentless, and from time to time, we seem to want to mark them, lest they fly away without any importance. A note I recently read on the internet spoke of there being only 940 Saturdays between a child’s being born and marching off to college.

How many Converse sneakers do we remember? I count four adult pairs, as I just got new high-tops, but they’re canvas, not the leather of the first ones I got back in the ’80s in San Francisco. I probably wore the two canvas pairs that followed the leather ones on average around 10 years each. I also just got a new battery-charged vacuum cleaner. This is the second one I’ve used on the same 2009 Honda. Those Hondas last beyond filled ashtrays or dirty floor mats. Turns out it is my second Honda, too.

When I first began to jot down this diary note, it was a momentary period when I didn’t live in my own house; I was a temporary renter. I’ve owned only five houses. I’ve had only five dogs in those five houses, but I have started to lose count of the cats. Coffee pots? Come on! More than can be remembered. I remember five Melitta coffee urns along with the two Mister Coffees I have in the basement for when we have company.

There’ve only been 15 no-hitters for the Cubbies, and I watched the most recent one. I don’t remember my first kiss, but I wish I did. Maybe if I make it up, it’ll be just as good. Markings either as a first, or memorable, or most recent, are all related to marking the passage of time. It does go flying past. Velveeta box by Velveeta box, peanut butter jar by peanut butter jar. Sundays and months of Sundays, and TGIFs compared to TBTs (Throwback Thursdays).

So the battle is always between the routine same-old, same-old, and the first day of each season. Hunting, football, academic and others. Today I’m thinking of a 21-year-old kid who’d just made his Broadway debut, as the lead, Jean Valjean, in “Les Miz,” who fell off his mother’s fire escape to his death. No more chances to sing “One Day More.” His life reminds us all.

I wouldn’t miss Maine’s first real snow of the winter for all of Florida. Watch out for the blue moon, the only eclipse this year in North America, and, of course, the lengthening days.