It’s almost as though, as in a stage production, there was a slight pause, the curtain was drawn  and when opened, the scene had changed so much so that it seemed like another world.  It was really quite strange that the only place where there was any snow on the ground was here – within a mile or two from our house and then the ground was bare.  I am sure it was a sign from on high that we needed some special treatment for some long forgotten cosmic transgression.  

For me, I am guilty of feeling that the milder temperatures and clear dry skies we have been having were a clear sigh that we were going to have an extended mild and summer-like fall.  I now know that with a flick of the meteorological switch the weather gods can dump whatever they choose upon our heads with impunity.  I am humbled by the lesson and promise never to take a nice day for granted again.  I mean within an hour yesterday morning we had two brief power outages!  What does it take, a brick up side the head?

It’s presently 34? and the fire across the room feels good against the soles of my feet propped up and pointed in that general direction.  There is only a smattering of snow in the shadier places left to remind us of the real season lurking around the corner.  Something now is different.  Attitudes have changed and the seasonal transmission has shifted into a slower gear driving all wheels for traction and security.

Hunker down.

When I think of it, perhaps one of he most shared activities we as human beings have is waiting. Here are some thoughts about waiting that I have recorded. I hope you enjoy them and, if so moved, perhaps would share your thoughts about this activity. Everyone waits.

The people who know said no snow until later and maybe not even then.  The people who know.  Entertainers, the lot of them.  It is November.  It is Maine.  And, I don’t want to deal with it yet.  What?  The worst is yet to come?  Another comedian.

By day’s end it will be gone.  It is already 32? and climbing.

Coffee, dark and hot.  That’s the cure.

We are sitting at the dining table at 5 PM and it is totally dark. i mean it is night. The light has departed. Of course this is real time we are talking here, not some smartass manipulating bastard’s idea of how to become energy independent. What a huge screw up DST is. Of course, this is only one man’s opinion. But it is mine and I am proud of it.

If the time is taken to look at the history of DST, it become apparent that there is nothing like universal agreement about the issue. ( Go Arizona! ) Depending on the latitude in question daylight differential varies from zero to hours. People at the equator see no difference while those of us at or near the 45th parallel see hours difference in the time shift. The nights are long in the winter and short in the summer. Moving that around doesn’t change a thing in reality and injects confusion, sleep disturbances and a growing resistance to paternalism in government. All this applies to me personally and that’s enough.

What is called for is an international revolt against this gross manipulation of time. “Our appointment was for 2 PM. You are an hour late.”

“The hell you say – I am on standard time. You are the one who is playing with reality and messing with the clocks.”

It ought to be the law that during the period when this pseudo time is in force it should be required of anyone giving the time to add the words “daylight saving time” to any mention of a particular time. “I’ll pick you up at 2 PM Daylight Saving Time.”

Anyone not adding those words to a time announcement would be at fault for someone arriving late and would be fined $10.

Ben Franklin, the ultimate culprit for this kind of skewed thinking, came up with the idea while trying to read some old yellowed text in the fading light of some summer’s afternoon and said, almost offhandedly, “I wish there was more light at this time of day.” Or some such nonsense. Then it hit him: why not set the clocks up ah hour in the summer?


Oh well, like I am going to change anything?

Be Well and Stay Tuned
Jerry Henderson