'Tis the time of year to spring our clocks ahead an hour. Someone suggested losing the hour in the middle of the day, during the work week, say, hump day, Wednesday at 3 pm, being the perfect time to fast forward to 4 pm; I say that’s brilliant, like a little fairy flying by with her wand, and poof, an hour in the dreary workday has passed. “Hey, look at that, it’s already four pm and a second ago it was three pm.” Letting go of that afternoon hour would make a person believe in magic. Instead, we are rudely awakened an hour earlier, on a dark and cold Monday morning, the day on which (and doctors, hospitals, and various studies concur) the most heart attacks take place.
Twice a year we realize that we have far too many needless clocks in the house. We’re retired. We don’t care what time it is; we eat when we are hungry and sleep when we are tired; what difference does an hour make, but here we are, on step ladders, once again fixing the time. After we are done with the clocks we turn to our watches, a number of which haven’t been worn for years and have dead batteries that need replacing. I keep a few of them for the memories: the Timex Indiglow underwater watch that I wore while snorkeling in Tahiti and Hawaii, the opal face lapis lazuli watch that I purchased in a drunken haze during a ski trip in Aspen, the Cartier tank watch (that actually turned out to be genuine) from the duty free shop, while boating in the Bahamas. None functional, but all reminders of times well spent.
Earlier in the year I came across a few dozen 50 year old photos, all taken during our high school years. There we were, forever thin, handsome, pretty, fresh skin all over our happy faces, full of baby boomer promise. I forwarded the more interesting snaps to the folk in the photos and the most thought provoking response came back as: “who says time travel is not possible”. Just looking at those photos brought us back to a long ago time; finned cars, prom gowns and other age appropriate escapades. During those years, we all had problems of one sort or another, but since none of us grew up to become axe murderers, drug addicts, wife beaters, child molesters, or any other type of career criminal, I’d say we all came through the fire intact. Then again, I didn’t notice a “top of the heap” winner either, and I blame it all on the time clock. Losing that precious hour in the morning during our teen age growth years was detrimental to our intellect and there are studies to prove it (if there aren’t, there should be). Supposedly we gained the time back in the fall, but by then the damage had been done.
The only clocks we don’t bother with are the kitchen appliances clocks. We lose power so often that they are forever flashing, but it is fun to watch guests try to calibrate them, the type A personalities who do not understand Einstein’s theory of relativity. Time flies or drags, depending on the quality of the moment; what the clock says is irrelevant, but always tempus fugit.
