There was a path installed near the humanities building when I was attending the University of California, and on either side of this path-to-nowhere (really it led to a tiny hidden grove of orange trees) was a poem, spelled out in bronze embedded letters. The way I happened on it was the reading backwards from the end of the poem. So the words that stuck with me, "Time Take," were an inverse of the above title, but became a tiny logo of mine, with different punctuation pushing the meaning to a different place: Time. Take. or Time, Take or Time--Take.
However I slipped those symbols in, the meaning was the same: time was around and I needed to stop and take some. It was never clear to me what I would do with this time that I was taking, but it was the stuff of poems, and hurried grad students, and bronze letters embedded on a path to a minuscule orange grove behind the brick buildings that smelled like heaven in the spring months when I would take the time to walk through those trees.
So, I took some time this morning to think about what I do with my time, and one thing I tend to do is to catch up on my Google reader, where, more often than not, after reading blog after blog, I come away feeling like my life is just so banal and trite and disorganized and unfulfilling and undecorated and uncrafty and generally unproductive.
I "clip" news items to act on, quilts to make, books to read, always falling farther and farther behind, or so it feels. This morning, a little wake-up post by Jeezebel helped to articulate this feeling. I can't recommend this site, by the way, but I can recommend this article to all you who are out there in Blog Land feeling slightly overwhelmed by the pressures of blogging clever, beautiful, creative, productive, ever-so-interesting lives, every day or two. It's funny to happen on this today, this morning, as last night I looked at the number of blogs I have coming in to my Google Reader, and put it on a diet, trimming the list by half--definitely getting rid of that decorator blog who is always putting pictures of other perfectionist decorators on her blog, with a chatty style that implies we just need to get with it a bit and that artist who artfully lays our her collections of old bias tape, rusty keys and pink erasers, one day at a time, sending the photo out into the world. I have this old junk, I think, why am I not doing the same artsy thing? You see how it goes.
That link led to another link (so typical) and I found this song, a good antidote for what ails me.
Time, take, and listen to this quirky song that deals in a roundabout way with expectations. And perfection--or not.
And if I have any extra time today, I'll head over and take a photo of the path, words and all.