I need help!
My hard-won mantras for ‘understanding’ what ‘simply moving the long and short Hands of the Clock’ means… are losing their clout, their ‘prowess for all time‘ knack at dispelling confusion.
Readers in The US, Canada, and UK will need to deal with this presently; here in Israel we are already ‘back in sync’ (one way to see it) with our ‘real’ Time-zone: two hours ahead of Greenwich.
The Sun, I keep whistling to myself in the dark, couldn’t care less what the rumoured ‘life’ on its Third Rock out does to its timepieces. Newton Rulez! (Ok, Einstein, on Mercury.)
But meanwhile, my ‘been there; done that’ confidence in successfully navigating the twice-yearly ‘revolution’ looks more like ‘Been there, didn’t get that done!’
I walk outside with my bucket of cat-food to distribute, (and thereby quiet a 14-feline chorus of annoyingly-petulant wailing fur-balls.) Darkness on the face of the Earth. The ‘new’ clock calls the Time ‘Five and a half bells’ 5:30 AM. I chant: ‘Ok, this is what was last week called 6:30.
Back then, of course, as now, the sun was rising about a minute later each morning, and it was becoming increasingly ‘wrong’ to drive to the corner store which opens at 6:30 without headlights.
Now, suddenly, Eli, the beloved store-owner and often my first (or only) contact with humanity daily, pulls into his postage-stamp parking lot in full sunlight. At ‘what is now called ‘the new six-thirty’ but was, only a few days ago 7:30!’
My cats, bless their furry hearts, haven’t changed their watches. And as a life-long farmer, we milked the cows by the sun; as in: as early in the morning when you could be sure, visually, that you didn’t mistakenly herd ‘Beulah’ into the milk parlour when she was officially on the ‘dry’ list of girls on ‘maternity leave’. ‘Lassie’ could smell their ‘paperwork’ in the dark, of course, but still, nothing like a human, to be 100% sure.
And so, as I mentioned, I am now desperately chanting my ‘save-me’ Mantra:
‘It is now Six AM… what used to be called ‘Seven AM.’ ‘Do you know where your cows are?’ (As the old Public Service Announcement once asked parents about their kids’ wanderings.)
And frankly, my dears, I sadly haven’t a clue, although I do give a damn.
Anyone have a better way to ‘grok’ this?