It seems there are so many things that always need a change. The list is long and has no order but consists of quite a range. As not all changes are created equal, some you revere, some you dread. Take changing a baby’s poopy diaper, well for that, little good can be said. When it’s time to put fresh sheets on the bed, oh how sweet those fresh pillowcases under your head. And a new change of oil will make your old car run great! Just like changing a flat tire that for far too long you’ve been meaning to inflate. Although it can be a real struggle to change out the empty TP roll, when the time comes it’s important to have it locked and loaded next to the bowl. In my particular case, about every three weeks it’s time to change the color of my hair. I mix the dye and shampoo in all over my head. This turns the bold gray roots to red.
But of all the things that require a change the most aggravating is when the hands of every clock must be rearranged! Father Time surely is fit to be tied when spring time rolls around. Even he’s not allowed to put his foot down. And fall poses the same problem all over again. Clocks have to be messed with ‘cause of somebody’s whim. History reports that Ben Franklin gave birth to DST in 1784. However, other sources claim Europeans came up with it way before. And in 1918 after many ‘springing forwards’ and ‘falling backs,’ DST, to this day, remains intact.
Now that it’s almost time to change the clocks, much to my chagrin, that cutesy refrain “Spring Forward” is here to help again. Taking those words with me as I pull clocks from every wall I’m able to adjust the new time until this coming fall. And just as always there’s that little wheel behind the ticking face. It will over shoot the placement of the hands, turning them the opposite in either case. The microwave, the bedside alarm (battery or electric, either form) any battery wall clock around, the coffee pot, the list goes on.
Although, considering my choices, in retrospect, maybe changing the clocks doesn’t cause the most stress. That rate of recurrence is merely two times a year. A number that pales by comparison to changing the cat’s litter box I fear! And that brings the baby’s poopy diaper back to mind. There again frequency plays a large role in time.
So I guess if when it’s time for a change
I should consider the situation before I complain.
But it still ticks me off about being forced to comply
With what time I keep and who tells me why.
