I HATE TODAY.
Well, actually I don’t hate today; I’m usually grateful for yet another opportunity to try to get it right, which happens every day.
And I certainly don’t hate Sundays.
And, truth be told, I don’t have anything in particular against March 12. After all, it isn’t the Ides of March, so I don’t see that I have anything in particular of which to beware.
March 12 is a fine day, as days go.
What I hate is that today is the day we have to change the clocks.
Well, I don’t suppose we actually “have to.”
We could just ignore it and keep our clocks exactly where they are. Obviously, that would mean that we’d be one hour out of sync with the rest of the known universe (although, for those of us who are routinely challenged by being in sync anyway, that might be a relatively insignificant nuance).
And what the heck. We have multiple time zones all the time, so it’s not like we’re all on the same time at the same time, so “What time is it?” is a relative question, depending upon where you are at any given moment.
Of course at our house (where there are a multitude of clocks and other time-keeping devices strewn throughout the house, many of which operate on batteries), “What time is it?” can depend upon what room you’re in.
(And, if you don’t like what time it is in the room you’re in, you can simply move to another room and have it be a different time, or you can restate the question: “What time would you like it to be?” But this is beginning to become a bit too ’60s).
Herculean task
And as I brace for the Herculean undertaking of actually resetting all of these timekeeping devices, I’m struck by how many of them there are.
Battery-operated clocks, plug-them-in clocks, watches, microwaves, ovens, coffeemakers and a constantly shifting number of electronic, digital devices.
(Of course, the latter often reset themselves, which would have been really mind-expanding in the ’60s).
In fact, there are so many that what time it actually is changes several times in the course of my struggling to make everything depict the same time, so I have to have a time-keeping device with me as I reset time-keeping devices.
It takes a lot of time.
Whose idea was this anyway?
Oh, I’m sure that I could take the time to Google it, but I don’t have the time (or the inclination).
Besides, I might discover some fact that would fly in the face of my dearly held prejudice (and I can’t have that), so I’ll just continue to believe that somehow it’s making money for somebody, which rationalizes (apparently) upending an entire culture.
It’s true. There are more car accidents when we change the time.
(I know this to be true because I heard it once and decided to believe it forever.)
And we lose an hour of sleep. How does that help?
We’re late for things, and that upsets everybody, so in order to compensate for not knowing what it is, we get into more car accidents and …
Cause for anxiety
Late for things: The very phrase paralyzes me with anxiety.
I was raised, for the most part, by a classically German grandmother who took it as gospel that if something was scheduled for, say, 6:30, you had better be there by 6:15 or else.
Or else … what? I don’t know, but to this day, if there’s any chance I might be less than 15 minutes early for something (anything), my palms begin to sweat and my heart palpitates, anticipating (I guess) that my grandmother will rise from her grave after 50 years and do … something.
I’m not sure what; I suspect that I’ve blocked it out of my memory because it was so apocalyptically impressive that my psyche just can’t deal with it.
“Spring forward,” we’re told — as though it were a happy thing.
Like we ought to be dancing around a maypole (whatever the heck a maypole is) in March, communing with butterflies and spewing blossoms hither and yon in happy anticipation of the rebirth of … my grandmother?
No, that’s silly, but … something.
Geez. What’s happy about this? Wouldn’t you rather sleep for an hour?
It takes our bodies awhile to figure all of this out, you know.
I mean, the lunch hour is still the lunch hour; it’s just that what hour the “lunch hour” is is different, but it’s the lunch hour, so you’d better eat.
And what time to go to bed?
Never mind genetically installed circadian rhythm; just look at the clock (which you just changed) and go to bed — then lie there for who knows how long, waiting to fall asleep, because the clock says it’s bedtime.
I sure hope somebody is making some money out of all this, and I sure hope it’s somebody I like.
I think in the end, I don’t really care what time it is.
No more disruptions
I just want it to be the same time all the time and be spared the DNA-level disruption.
Pick a time — any time — and I’ll probably go along with it. After all, we made all of this up, you know.
Well …? I don’t think the universe super-imposed Mountain Standard Time (or whatever).
All the universe did is provide certain entertaining cycles and rhythms (like a rotating planet, light/dark, seasons), then we decided to start counting them so we could measure time.
True, it’s probably internationally critical that we all know that it’s 3 a.m. in Tokyo (for the moment).
And what would happen if we didn’t measure time? How would we know when to apply for Medicare?
We wouldn’t.
How would we know when to retire?
We wouldn’t.
How would we know when to feel old? Or act old?
We wouldn’t.
We’d just keep having, doing and creating our lives based on something other than how many days, weeks, months, decades we’ve been at it.
Or how many more of any of those some number-cruncher predicts we might have left.
We’d just live and live and then we’d live some more, and then …
We’d have lives.
Of course, we might not have coffee in the morning …
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Mark Harvey is director of Clallam/Jefferson Senior Information & Assistance, which operates through the Olympic Area Agency on Aging. He is also a member of the Community Advocates for Rural Elders partnership. He can be reached at 360-452-3221 (Port Angeles-Sequim), 360-385-2552 (Jefferson County) or 360-374-9496 (West End), or by emailing harvemb@dshs.wa.gov.
