DST
This morning, the sun rose here at 6:15. Tomorrow morning, it will rise at 7:15. Too late, this early in the year.
That is the opinion of a family of early risers: Karen, me, two dogs, and a cat. The dogs and cat have timers in their heads that say, “Time to wake up,” at 5:30 a.m., no matter the conditions outside. This morning, we had some first light at 5:30. Tomorrow morning at that time, first light will be an hour away. Tomorrow, we can just lie in bed, tune out the screechings from puppies and kitties, and wait for first light to guide our morning steps. Monday morning, though, is going to be rough, and I object to that. If the sun is going to come up an hour later, shouldn’t work start an hour later?
Easy to blame George W. Bush, who signed the law changing DST debut from the first Sunday in April to the second Sunday in March. He and his people have screwed up so much, why not try for the clocks that animals have in their heads? But he signed the document months ago. The news now is how the early start is going to result in another Y2K situation, where computers, not to mention puppies and kitties, want to stay on the old time until a more reasonable date in spring. Why has the scientific community not taken the appropriate actions to get humanity and animality through this mess?
Re-setting all the clocks will be easy, as it always is when you spring forward. If my recent history holds, I will remember to do that next Wednesday. Last week I looked at my watch and it said March 4. My birthday, March 6, had already passed. Something was wrong. I remembered that February has 28 days, but my wristwatch doesn’t know that. I had to move my wristwatch date four dates forward. Tomorrow, I have to turn around again and re-set it an hour forward for DST. This is not pleasant for a man who just turned 64, and very aware of the finiteness of days and hours, after all those carefree decades of believing I would live forever.
I was born in March, and on DST, or War Time as they called it then. Anyone born between 1941 and 1946 was born an hour earlier than they think. President Roosevelt placed the nation on year-round DST for a very good strategic reason that at the moment completely slips my mind. If I die on DST, I will have lost an hour off my life totally because of the whim, strategic or otherwise, of a President of the United States. Mr. Bush has added four weeks of my year to that possibility, and I have to say I resent it. As long as I die on the same day I was born, March 6, then all will be well. Though the puppies and kitties will wonder why in the hell, at 5:30 a.m., they haven’t been fed.
That is the opinion of a family of early risers: Karen, me, two dogs, and a cat. The dogs and cat have timers in their heads that say, “Time to wake up,” at 5:30 a.m., no matter the conditions outside. This morning, we had some first light at 5:30. Tomorrow morning at that time, first light will be an hour away. Tomorrow, we can just lie in bed, tune out the screechings from puppies and kitties, and wait for first light to guide our morning steps. Monday morning, though, is going to be rough, and I object to that. If the sun is going to come up an hour later, shouldn’t work start an hour later?
Easy to blame George W. Bush, who signed the law changing DST debut from the first Sunday in April to the second Sunday in March. He and his people have screwed up so much, why not try for the clocks that animals have in their heads? But he signed the document months ago. The news now is how the early start is going to result in another Y2K situation, where computers, not to mention puppies and kitties, want to stay on the old time until a more reasonable date in spring. Why has the scientific community not taken the appropriate actions to get humanity and animality through this mess?
Re-setting all the clocks will be easy, as it always is when you spring forward. If my recent history holds, I will remember to do that next Wednesday. Last week I looked at my watch and it said March 4. My birthday, March 6, had already passed. Something was wrong. I remembered that February has 28 days, but my wristwatch doesn’t know that. I had to move my wristwatch date four dates forward. Tomorrow, I have to turn around again and re-set it an hour forward for DST. This is not pleasant for a man who just turned 64, and very aware of the finiteness of days and hours, after all those carefree decades of believing I would live forever.
I was born in March, and on DST, or War Time as they called it then. Anyone born between 1941 and 1946 was born an hour earlier than they think. President Roosevelt placed the nation on year-round DST for a very good strategic reason that at the moment completely slips my mind. If I die on DST, I will have lost an hour off my life totally because of the whim, strategic or otherwise, of a President of the United States. Mr. Bush has added four weeks of my year to that possibility, and I have to say I resent it. As long as I die on the same day I was born, March 6, then all will be well. Though the puppies and kitties will wonder why in the hell, at 5:30 a.m., they haven’t been fed.
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