Let’s just say I’m not a fan.
For example, this ‘Spring-ing Forward’ nonsense. Maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who does so gracefully. Right along with the Easter Bunny and the St. Patrick’s Day Leprechaun. If so. Count your blessings.
I don’t spring.
Disheveled. Bleary-eyed. Cranky.
As for ‘Fall-ing Back.’ It might be months away but I’m already dreading it.
We should know better than to mess with Mother Nature. She’s a stand-up-fist-in-face _____. [This is a G-rated blog. Fill in the blank…]
Which is exactly what I am after the time change. [Except I’m less of a stand-uppity and fist-y-in-your-face _____ and more of a covers-over-the-head-IT’S-NOT-SIX-IT’S-FIVE-FREAKING-IN-THE-A.M. _____!]
For the duration of the adjustment period, I try to convince myself that decaf is every bit as effective as caf while I’m white-knuckling my morning cup of brew.
My family can testify.
Nine-days in, my internal clock is still sprung. Forget the snooze button. I don’t even hear the alarm[zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz]. The sun rises when it rises and sets when it sets. My mind likes to think it knows better, but my body begs to differ.
Which brings me back to Mother N. She may be a _____, but she’s also one smart bird.
At our previous home we had several birdhouses installed on the vertical posts of the back patio cover. One fall a woodpecker visited, diligently reshaping one of the birdhouse entrances to suit. That year was the first of many that the woodpecker ‘wintered over.’ We were delighted to have the company.
We could set our clocks [and seasons] by that bird. Better yet, we could have thrown the clocks out.
Every morning, just before dawn, the woodpecker would begin ‘drumming’ inside the birdhouse. After several minutes he’d cautiously stick his head out [checking for predators? stumbling half-awake humans?] before exiting.
At dusk, if we happened to be in the garden, we’d hear him scolding us rather frantically as he flitted from tree to tree. “It’s my bedtime! Get out of my yard!”
Each day this bird followed its natural rhythms cued by light to dark and back again. Adjustments were in daily increments, not an abrupt arbitrary hour in Spring and Fall. Whenever we sprang or fell, he stayed put. In his own time zone.
So this year I’m ignoring DST in favor of the Woodpecker Solution. It’s much more humane. And way more sensible.
It’s either that, or I’m gonna have to move to Hawaii or Arizona.