I changed all our clocks at 7:00 last night, just before David and I went out to dinner at this snug little place called Camp, a restaurant built to look like a cabin, with rough-hewn pine tables, and kids’ names carved into them.
Trying to honor the spirit of the place I ordered the meatloaf, which arrived looking like a big, very old, softball, under a brown sauce. OK that was a step too far, I thought, and I concentrated instead on my salad and my zucchini and summer squash mix, knowing the eating machine that is my husband would have no trouble polishing off the meatloaf-ball if we brought it home with us
Which we did and immediately queued up the second episode of The Americans, which I had slept through the first time I’d tried to watch it earlier this week. This time I fell asleep again, even earlier in the episode than before, and woke to an empty living room. Where was David? For a minute I thought he’d been ‘taken’, along with our meatball horror of horrors!
But no. There he was in the bedroom, snoozing away.
On walking in there I saw that even though really in the world it was just 9:50, our clock read 10:50 because, of course I had jumped it ahead before we went out to eat. No surprises for me! I see what’s coming! I thought. I’ll wake at 6:00 tomorrow and there’ll be no sign of daylight. I’ll write a post on my blog and answer 20 emails and then watch the sun come up and it will be so early still and the further jobs of the day an eternity away!
Only it doesn’t work like that and how can I forget that every year? Because I did get up before the sun but now here it is almost 9:30 and no emails answered at all, just a lot of noodling around online reading the Globe and the Times and catching Lena Dunham’s clips from last night’s SNL. Because what happens on the second Saturday in March is we lose an hour, which I didn’t properly remember until 20 minutes ago when I read today’s posting on the blog of my cherished old friend Milton Brasher-Cunningham, who just nails it every time out and for sure nailed it late last night with an original poem on the time change.
I reprint it here but go to his blog anyway and try following it. He writes every day in Lent. It’s a gift to us all.
So enjoy the light, as I mean to do now too, freshly tutored by my friend. What am I doing writing a lot of emails on a Sunday anyway?
by Milton Brasher-Cunningham
the earth had a way of tilting its head
to set up the space for each season
a delicate dance a wonderful thread
from sunny to snowy to freezin’
the days first grew short and then they grew long
as the winter conceded to spring
but we have decided nature was wrong
a new seasonal schedule to bring
spring forward we said — move time up an hour
the change will make march days seem longer
there isn’t more sun — we don’t have that pow’r
we’ve just shown that our hubris is stronger
than our logical thought or common sense
as kids wait in the dark for their bus
why can we not live in this present tense
and stop winding ourselves in a fuss
this silly rhyme has one conclusion
we’re quite content with our illusion