The Benedictine monks believe that there is time in every day for work, play, study and prayer. Too often in our new millenium western culture, we make time for only the first of the four activities on that list.

Our relationship to work is complicated. Historically, it is tied up with our Puritan ethic, our need to prepare for winter, and our compulsion to conquer and claim ownership. We work for many reasons-to make money, to feel good about ourselves, to gain power and prestige or just out of habit. These days, culturally, working too much is what is expected of us. When is the last time you heard someone answer the question, "How have you been?" with a response other than, "Busy, really busy." When is the last time you responded any other way?

Working too much makes us feel like we belong to a club. Those of us who are traditionally viewed as college-educated, upwardly mobile achievers, know the rules are unhealthy and maybe even self-destructive, and the dues keep increasing, but we don't know how to decline membership. We can become driven, obsessed and afraid of time that is unstructured and open. We say yes to too many projects in advance, and then the devil comes wanting his due.

The irony of this technological age is that our timesaving devices have devoured rather than saved us time. Microwaves do not make dinner easier or more relaxed. They make it easier for people to eat on the run; or by themselves. There is no longer any need to plan meals, or take the time to cook them, or eat together. E-mail and fax machines mean we need to communicate with others more quickly and more often, losing the finesse, commitment or even artistry that a handwritten or typed letter implied.

People carry their cell phones into their cars, into parks, into Disney World, into airports and shopping malls, rendering time away from work a thing of the past. What we expect to get done in a day, a week, a month or a year sends us sprinting into each day, telling ourselves we have no time for a long walk, a good book, a letter home or a yoga class.

If I get too stressed, I find myself walking from room to room, wasting endless minutes, trying to remember what I am supposed to accomplish. An astrology tape that a friend leant me explained that I was lacking in "Neptunian time"-time for absorbing, assimilating, dreaming, drifting. As a culture, we are all lacking in Neptune time. Our children rush frantically from soccer practice to piano to a job washing dishes to homework to a few hours of sleep. They are mimicking us-showing us the canary's song-as they always do. As a culture, we are losing our sense of balance. It shows in the popularity of shows like "Survivor." Wouldn't it be great to be reduced to elementals, to be stuck on a beach somewhere with nothing to do but survive and dream of millions? And isn't this a sort of shadow image of our work-obsessed, money-obsessed society?

Monday is Labor Day, initiated to honor the working class in New York in 1882 and declared a national legal holiday by Congress in 1894. This Labor Day, I am going to pay attention to the Benedictine sense of what a day entails-work, yes, but also study, play and prayer. Can I remember how to play? Baking a cake from scratch would do it, or visiting with friends, playing music, riding my bike or swimming in the river.

Engaging in these activities-slow, balanced renditions of human activity for its own pleasurable sake-may even give Neptune his due. And if Neptune gets his due, I might even remember next time what I went down to the basement for.

Mary Greene, Associate Editor