Do you suppose “Daylight Saving Time” was a thought when Mr. Chaucer penned “Time and tide wait for no man?” I don't think so.
We just scooted clocks ahead an hour this past weekend, which has me a bit out of sync with whatever had become somewhat routine over the last many months. Routine, for me, you must understand, is subject to review.
“Going to sleep time” and “waking up time” do not fall into the category of routine. If anything, these benchmarks are extremely variable and depend very much upon what I call “the crises of the day.” These are random and quite unpredictable events that demand immediate attention. No planning necessary. And the time does not matter.
Personally, routine arrives in odd packages. Last week for instance, twice, I woke up at exactly 2:22 a.m. What's weird is, I was born at 2:22 a.m., bless my poor mother's heart. Do you suppose, subconsciously, I didn't want the time to change so much that I awakened at exactly the same time to check?
We have a clock that projects the time on the ceiling. That's how I knew. Not my idea. John Druce had one. He suggested it. I thought it was silly. Still do. But, I know exactly where to find the time, even when it changes.
Where is this all going?
The tides change every six hours. Time marches on, that is, until someone messes with it. I'm happy that some things can be counted on, even if I am reminded of just how out of whack I am.
Not sure how I feel about messing with the time. The day doesn't seem to change much, just the clocks. Tides continue on schedule.