Time is

“Be glad of life, because it gives you the chance to work, to play, and to look up at the stars”

— these were the words written by Henry van Dyke, Jr. inscribed on the very first plaque I ever bought for myself and placed on my very first desk at my very first job as a receptionist for Benco International, a small but successful, Manhattan Real Estate Developer. The plaque sat humbly in the shadow of the opulent floral arrangements, delivered fresh each week to our offices on the third or fourth floor, as I recall, of the Met Life Building at 200 Park Avenue, then known as the Pam Am Building.

I loved my job at Benco International. A wonderfully, warm woman named Ellen was the Executive Assistant and my superior. I admired her, her position, and her grown up life in the city. Soon enough I too would be an Executive Assistant if not at Benco, then elsewhere. New York City in the 1980s was nothing if not ripe with opportunity for a young woman holding a six-month Secretarial Certificate from The Alice B. Skinner School of Business, trained in dictation and something called, “A.B.C. Shorthand”.

Besides signing for the weekly delivery of extravagant bouquets, my other duties included cleaning the conference table with Windex, and of course, answering the telephone. “Benco International!” I’d sing into the mouthpiece of my Nortel M7208 all day, directing calls to Ellen or one of the two Bens in Benco International.

Across town over at 45 Rockefeller Plaza, my best friend, Lisa, was the secretary for a partner of rival developers. “Tishman-Speyer Properties, Steve Tishman’s office” was her assigned greeting. When days were slow, we’d phone each other back and forth, relentlessly, forcing the other to answer in her assigned greeting.

“Benco International!” I’d cheerily sing out no matter how often the phone rang.

“Tishman Spire Properties ! Lisa managed all day with equal aplomb.

Lisa had a crush on her boss. A Skinner Alum herself, when transcribing his letters, she’d slow the speed of her machine down at his salutations, sometimes forcing him to drawl out, “I am Sinceeerly Youurrss”; Other times she’d simply hit stop, then repeat, and play once again so that she could pretend Steve was hers by making him repeat, “Very Truly Yours, Very Truly Yours Very Truly Yours.”

Greg was Bencos’ in-house Bicycle Messenger. Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stayed Gregg from cycling about Manhattan delivering and receiving the important papers and plans he carried in those blueprint tubes he ferried around the city. I liked Greg a lot, too. He was a nice guy and my first work friend. This was all a few, short years before the arrival of the Facsimile Machine. The Fax Machine was able to transfer text from one office to another, or as was the case, one Deli to several offices, in a matter of minutes. The Fax Machine and the impending personal computer revolution would eventually render skills like A, B, C, shorthand, and dictation obsolete - along with many of those jobs.

I was a goddess at nineteen, beautiful, young -- eternal. Passing Rod Stewart one day during my lunch hour didn’t even cause me to break stride. He was leaning against the Hotel Lexington, one foot propped against the base of the hotel’s pyramidal towers taking a cigarette break from Rock Star life, I suppose. He smiled toward me and and nodded. An invitation perhaps? It was a smile and nod I couldn’t even bother to return. I was on my way to bigger and better things.

I’m less surprised today that I didn’t even try to interact with Rod Stewart than I am at other choices I made at that age. It is arguable that I really wasn’t “making choices” for myself then — what with my drinking and too-frequent recreational drug use. But I know it was my choice to buy that little plaque with its life instructions of gratitude, hope, and wonder.

With confidence bordering on conceit, why did I need to remind myself that life was a gift at all? These 40 years later it’s really something to me to think there was once a version of me who needed reminding at all that the trudge of life is the gift, that the delight lies in the effort, the work, the play — the wonder. I lost the ability to work a few years ago, cancer and some other bad medicine, though I never lost the ability to play. Just recently, I broke my foot playing. Well, playing and talking.

After a day spent with our nephew’s young children at a water park, we ended our day by taking in our nephew’s performance at the Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival. What a day! But at 60 and disabled, not to mention tired from the long day, I guess I should have been more careful. Heading down to bed that night I miss stepped, bringing all 168 pounds of me down in full force and enough to break my foot and sprain my ankle. In the process, a few bone fragments have torn away, or so I’m told. Se la vie.

I began writing this from bed, my foot propped up on pillows, cheerfully resting in the company of Hoda, Jenna, and Drew. Once properly booted, I was up on my feet again and on my way. I’m told the foot will heal in time. Time is something, isn’t it? Mr. Van Dyke also wrote about time; I’ve included it below.

Today I am glad of life. It has given me the chance to work. And I’ll continue to take any chance to play. And as for that unstoppable, brave, and beautiful young woman I once was — I’d like to thank her for the reminder anew. And until I’m fully up on dancing feet once again, I’ll just use this slowed-down opportunity to look up more at the stars -- and pray that once fully recovered I will continue to.

Time is
Too slow for those who Wait,
Too swift for those who Fear,
Too long for those who Grieve,
Too short for those who Rejoice,
But for those who Love,
Time is not.

Henry van Dyke, Jr.