When it comes to the weekends where we spring forward and fall back, acting as though we can set time and tell time and save time, I think about youth camp years ago in Texas. One of the kids in the youth group lamented that we had to get up so early in the morning—breakfast was at 8. We had a day full of activities and we needed to be up. I couldn’t change that. So I just changed the clock to Camp Standard Time and, since it was before smartphones, I had everyone set their clocks and watches ahead four hours. We had breakfast at noon, lunch at four, dinner at ten, and our evening activities finished up about 3 am.
The sunrises and sunsets that week were nonplussed. They came and went as they pleased. The stars followed their regular routes across the skies. We did nothing but pander ourselves with an illusion of convenience and control. And then we got on the busses and went home.
We can’t save time, or tell time, or even set time, but we can remember, as Tom Waits sings,
and it’s time time time, and it’s time time time
and it’s time time time that you love
and it’s time time time . . .
Peace,
Milton
