Saturday, November 15, 2014

You know what really grinds my gears? Daylight Savings Time - By Jeffrey J. Thivierge

You know what really grinds my gears...?
Daylight savings time.

First, let me say that I never can remember when daylight savings begins and when it ends. Does it begin in the spring when we set our clocks ahead an hour or does it begin when we set them back an hour in the fall? (That kids, is a rhetorical question... I’m writing this on the magical Google-machine that knows the answer to all of life’s questions.) But I digress...

Whoever thought the notion of playing with our clocks must have been a raving lunatic with no children. I remember so vividly being 7 or 8 years old and my bedtime being 8 p.m. and being forced to go to bed when the sun was still up during summer vacation.  

Now, as an (emotionally immature) adult, I wake up at 5:48 a.m. every morning. By the time I get my kid to the bus stop at 6:43 a.m., the sun is up. Sort of. But it doesn’t matter because by 7 a.m. I’m entering the dungeon of fluorescent lights that is my place of employment. Once again, even as an adult, the switching of the clock takes its toll on me. How? Because here it is, mid-November, and I’m rolling out of my office at 3:45 p.m. and the sun is beginning to set. By the time I stop at the store and get home, it’s 4:30 p.m. and I can’t so much as walk my dogs in the neighborhood without needing a flashlight to find their “land mines”. 

I thought it was a dumb idea back then and I continue to think it’s dumb. Who are we doing this for? Some say farmers. Do the crops know when we mess with the clocks? I’m pretty sure we get the same amount of daylight regardless of what Mickey’s hands say on my watch. As a former “County” boy, I can say with a level of certitude that farmers work hard and make sure the job is done, paying little attention to what the digital clocks in their trucks say. 

Guess the “person” that cares most about the changing of the clocks? My Chocolate Labrador Retriever...Drake. Mr. Drake Gilligan Thivierge (yes, my dog has a middle name... don’t judge) has an internal clock that can rival the master atomic clock at the U.S. Naval Observatory in Washington, D.C. And it’s not a “wake up, I need to go out” internal clock. His internal clock triggers his salivary glands beginning at 4:30 p.m. every afternoon... knowing full well that his suppertime is 5 p.m. And when we set the clocks back a couple weekends ago, his internal clock began to tell his salivary glands that suppertime was upon him and would start spreading his trail of drool at 3:30 p.m. 

My dog is one of the smartest people I know. He knows that it’s not natural to play with time like this. Whether it is science or God that made our planet rotate in this way, it doesn’t matter. What matters is my and/or my dogs feeding schedule. And as much as I want to move to Texas when my wife allows me to, I’m thinking Hawaii or Arizona may also be decent choices.... neither of theses states mess with their clocks.

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