Marking Time

This weekend was a sweet time. It often gets like this in late summer when we suddenly realize that time is passing - swiftly - and the precious balm of summer afternoons are soon to be gone for another year.

This has been a beautiful summer - warm afternoons but not too warm. Lots of time to spend on porches with friends talking. Time to sit in the sun and read or knit or dream. I haven’t taken advantage of it as I should have.

What I haven’t done is write enough. Work has been plentiful which is good but I haven’t made time to spend at the page and that is disappointing to me. My priorities need readjustment - again. You get to this point in life where you realize that time might be eternal but your own time is finite and what you do with it is important. I saw Domenic DeStefano in the parking lot of the art association yesterday. He was walking around looking for something to paint. We talked for awhile and he said he has painted more this summer than in a long time. “I’m 82 now,” he said. “I wonder how many more of these painting summers I am going to get.

Eighty-two? I would have guessed 10 years younger. That’s one thing about painters - they always seem years younger than they are. Theresa Bernstein died at 107. I think those who are fortunate enough to have a passion and wise enough to indulge it shamelessly are the best at using time. I need to follow their example.

My father was a carpenter. His shop was a place of total wonderment to me. He spent many many hours there - evenings and weekends. Mostly he worked, sometimes he sat at a dust desk and read blueprints and trade books or drew plans. He had an interesting way of marking time, too. He nailed things to the support beams - calendars from feed stores, articles from magazines, pictures drawn by children, holy cards of various saints, articles from the newspaper. And he wrote on the furnace. Everyone loved the way he wrote on the furnace.

“June 17, 196_ - 26 degrees, built a fire”, “September 6, 195_ - got a new Beagle, named Rowdy” - all my Dad’s dogs were named Rowdy. Maybe in a way making this blog is like Dad writing on the furnace. It gives me a reason to sit and think about my days and acknowledge their passing and what distinguishes one from the next.

So I have to make more time for writing. The blog is good. It gets me started but it is just a beginning. I am starting a new experiment. In the morning when I get up and come to the computer to blog I will post the blog but then - leave the internet! It’s a time waster. Leave the message boards where the same predictable people have the same predictable arguments over the same predictable subjects - all of them ending the same predictable way. Let the email go until it is time to get to work and deal with it then. Don’t cruise around checking all the web sites I have decided are important - eBay will survive without me for awhile. Just log off and write. That’s all there is to it. Writing comes first.

Time speeds up at this time of year. It’s a strange phenomenon - the more beautiful the days and the more silky and fragrant the nights - the faster they slip by. It is time to be mindful. It is time to honor that by using it well. Write the day. Savor the moments. Write and knit and think and savor. And share - always share.

Thanks for reading.