Sunday morning we were entirely ready for the %^*%^^ semiannual time change. The four wall clocks were all reset. The two digital readouts on major appliances were changed. Our wristwatches were brought into synchronization with the rest. The only things we couldn’t adjust were our stomachs which told us it was lunchtime when our clocks told us that it positively was not.
It says something about the inertia and dysfunctional nature of Congress that despite the desire of 63% of Americans to do away with this noxious practice we must still play the time game twice each year.
When I was single, I was routinely late for Sunday services in the Spring, and arrived an hour early nearly every Fall. Remembering the axiom “Spring ahead, Fall back” seemed beyond my ken, like some temporal learning disability. And it is all for nought! It serves no purpose! It is a leftover from the past that is less useful than corset stays and spats.
I am of the belief that when I have checked out and am on my way to glory DST will still be the practice. And people will either be an hour late or an hour early to the funeral.
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On a recent visit to Silverton I collected some photos of the pickings in a tourist-oriented shop. I am a fan of the creatively tawdry, as you can see. Please don’t blame my parents … this is all on me.
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Even quietly perched on a church roof or under the arm of a bridge, ravens are obviously brooding, grumbling among one another, plotting the end of the world.
Craig Childs, The Animal Dialogues, p.129
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At the end of the chapter on ravens, Craig Childs muses on our human arrogance when we talk about other animals’ “intelligence.”
Anthropomorphism is generally frowned upon. It is said to be improper to see animals the same way we view ourselves. We are asked to temper our language when speaking of animal traits, lest we call them by a name that is not theirs, forming words in our mouths that do not sound like a snake’s whisper, a grasshopper’s clicking. It just seems as odd, though, to sequester ourselves in a cheerless vault of sentience, sole proprietors of smarts and charm. Bees form a mind of a hive, don’t they? Doesn’t the bear dream when it sleeps, and don’t grasses stretch with all their might toward the sun? Every living thing has the same wish to flourish again and again. Beyond that, our differences are quibbles.
Craig Childs: The Animal Dialogues, p. 138.
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Little Home In The Valley 