Time after time

 

The funny thing about time is it’s always something I wish I had more of but the moment I have some actual free time on my hands, I have no idea what to do with it. I mean, where do I start?

I could use my time to learn a new language. I understand there are many. How great would it be to communicate with a new people, embrace a new culture. I’m already part of the way there on Spanish. To my ear, French is the best-sounding language on the planet. But have I really, truly mastered English? I mean, this column only exists if I’m good at English. But English is hard. There’s a lot of it. And as Arika Okrent says in her book “Highly Irregular”, English is weird. Why the heck are “dough,” “tough,” and “through,” pronounced uniquely?

One way to get better at English is to read, you know, books. Those things on the shelf and at the library. Back in the day I was well read. In fact, once upon a time I was so well-read in English I started reading books from other countries – like England. I guess I still read an hour or so a day, but most everything I read now starts with “Deep in the hundred-acre wood…”. Recently I wandered into a bookstore by mistake and thought: look at all these words! Sure, most words are ghost-written, but there are also legitimate books by legitimate writers, people with not only a grasp of the English language but a gift. These books can really make you think, feel, or laugh. Sometimes all of the above! Yes sir. One of these days I’m going to read one of those books. Yes sir.

Unless, of course, I want to write. And I’m not talking about this little newspaper/magazine column stuff I write now. I want to write a book. But I don’t see how I could possibly write a book and read a book at the same time. Look, I have some time on my hands, but I don’t have I’m I’m-going-to-read-AND-write-a-book time. I mean, I’m not retired.

Yes, writing a book is a thing I’d like to do. Sometimes I imagine holding the book I’ve written in my hand. It would be a good size, not too big or too small. On the outside, my book would have a title and maybe some art. On the inside there would be words, not too many or too few, words neither too big nor too small. Critics and lay readers alike would agree that there were the right words, the best available words. And occasionally punctuation.

But one thing I learned writing this column is that writing is hard. It’s not so much the words that are hard. I have plenty of words. Man, do I have words. I have enough words for twenty books. The thing that’s hard about writing is all the extra words. Michelangelo would sculpt by getting rid of all the parts that weren’t his subject. I want to write my book the same way – with a hammer and chisel.

Looking back, I see I’ve spent three paragraphs writing about writing. Surely, I could edit that down but who has the time? Oh, wait. I guess I do. But is editing really the best use of my time? Can one edit and still ponder the deep questions like – What is time? If we drill down, we discover that time is not thyme. Personally, I get my thyme from Burlap and Barrel. Their thyme has notes of lavender, wild herbs, and pine. And though thyme is not time, if you’re in the kitchen making a recipe that calls for it, feel free to ask – Do you have the thyme?

Einstein said: Time is relative. And sure, that sounds good but has anyone checked his math? Well, I had a little time on my hands, so I ran the numbers. I found two small but statistically significant errors, which I corrected. It turns out Einstein’s theory should have been: Time has relatives. Father Time. Mother Nature. Brother Bear. My Cousin Vinny. And so on.

Yes, the kids went back to school. Thus, for the first time in a very long time I have some time. It’s about time, it’s high time, it’s just in the nick of time, And I hope to have a whale of a time. But… at the same time, I want to take my time because time flies and in no time, someone’s going to call “time” and I’ll be, well, out of, you know, time.