Tag: daylight saving

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In the Still of the Light

Heather’s had a lot of brilliant ideas in our marriage. This one happened to be literal.

Which is why, after 22+ years of talking about it, we’ve finally put up window lights.

Sure, Christmas was two and a half months ago. So what? These happen to be springtime lights, in pastel-pink and green. After all, March and April still have their share of cold dark nights in Colorado, and a string of lights shines just as brightly against near-certain springtime snow as it does against a semi-mythical “White Christmas.”

Besides, it’s not like we don’t have company. Drive around Longmont for half an hour or so, and you’ll still find enough dazzling domiciles to make a pretty good light run. Maybe not the outright Walt Disney Apocalypse extravaganzas (“Mad Max 13: It’s A Small World After All”), but at this time of year, even the simplest display stands out.

But it’s not about showing off. Not really. Speaking for ourselves – and possibly for many others – these winter-ish lights are born of a very spring-like impulse.

Impatience.

It’s not the sort of thing that goes on a greeting card. But it’s true nonetheless.

Why else would we rob ourselves of an hour of sleep for eight months every year?

If you’re a longtime reader of this column, you know I’m not a daylight saving fan. Part of it is because I genuinely love the nighttime – early sunlight gets me going when I need to, but a delayed sunset steals something special. Part of it is because, like many people these days, I see the time-jumping as outright ridiculous and would just as soon “lock the clock.”

It’s been argued on grounds of ecology, economy, Founding Father wisdom and more, and none of it holds up. (Ben Franklin’s famous piece on it, for the record, was a satire.) It’s not even all that necessary – left to itself, light extends into the evening as spring and summer roll on, anyway, without disrupting the suppertime of confused pets.

But a lot of us get impatient. We want the light now. Even if it means wearing ourselves out a little to get it.

I think that’s a sentiment that a lot of us can empathize with now, as we complete our first pandemic year.

We’ve been walking in the dark for a lot longer than four months. We’ve had stress and strain on every side as we try to last just a little longer, to adapt and constrain our lives until we’re sure we’re in the clear.

It’s hard. Absolutely. And every so often, there’s a temptation to jump the gun and declare “We’re ready NOW.” We know better – we’ve seen the results – but it still happens.

But it’s also a time when we share light.

In a hundred different ways, a thousand, we’ve pushed back against the darkness. From the smallest acts of consideration to the greatest acts of generosity, so many of us have kindled a light for others to see.

To the choir teacher who finds ways to share a collective joy of music online rather than let voices go silent … we see you.

To the neighbor making a necessary trip for someone who can’t safely do it themselves … we see you.

To everyone who’s been holding a family together in a time of stress beyond belief … we see you.

To you and many more besides … you are the ones who inspire joy. Who light hope. Spirits like yours are what will help us reach the other side, and will make it a place worth reaching.

We’re all impatient for the light. Let’s find the best ways to share it, the ones that make a brighter world for all of us.

And if it’s lit in pastel colors – so much the better.  

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You Can Set Your Clock By It

Health care can deadlock a Congress. Taxation can set pundits to wrangling. But if you really want to get a room full of people fighting at maximum intensity, there’s nothing quite like an arbitrary tradition.

You know the sort of thing I mean.

“No! We open presents before stockings, not after!”

“What do you mean you don’t use the Oxford comma?”

“I will defend to the death Pluto’s inalienable right to be called a planet.”

Majestic molehills, all of them, and I have summited each of their peaks with an unholy glee to do battle with the incorrigible heretics arrayed against me. But for the greatest level of intensity over the most arbitrary of traditions, it’s really hard to beat Daylight Saving Time.

Our twice-a-year clock fumbling has nothing behind it but history, and a venerable series of mythic justifications. No, it doesn’t help farmers – cows don’t care what time it is. No, it doesn’t save energy – in fact, some studies say it actually uses a little more. And Benjamin Franklin never boosted the concept except as a satire.

So it comes down to “We do it because we’ve always done it.” For some, this might be a sign that we don’t truly need it. But for the truly committed – social media fans, state politicians, and perhaps the hidden space aliens living in the Earth’s mantle – it’s a chance to start two fights: one over whether to stop the clock, and one over where to stop it.

PERSON ONE: “I want to walk my dog after work when it’s still light!”

PERSON TWO: “I don’t want to do my morning bike ride in the dark!”

PERSON ONE: “Oh, just man up and spring back!”

PERSON TWO: “It’s spring forward, you clock abuser!”

PERSON THREE: “Um, I work nights so I don’t really care …”

PERSONS ONE AND TWO: “You stay out of this!”

Each year, the time passes and the debate gets tabled for another few months. Once in a great while, a state will actually vote to freeze the clock (hi, Florida!), but usually it all winds down in muttering and sarcastic suggestions. (“Tell you what – you can have daylight saving as long as we get to move the clocks forward at 4 p.m. on a Friday.”) An opportunity lost, again.

And yet, this too may have its value, for two reasons.

First, if we can actually capture all the heat generated by daylight saving debates over the years, we may have discovered a valuable new energy source.

Second, and more serious, it means we inherently recognize that tradition itself has some value.

Traditions are the stories we tell ourselves. They’re the frame that we set around family experiences to make them our own. They’re the moments that bring people together, whether it’s applauding a fireworks show or singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” They set a rhythm that gives us just a small bit of control over the world around us.

Sure, not every tradition is equally valuable. Some can be outright harmful, especially when pushed on someone who doesn’t want to participate. (No one likes being forced to tell a story.) But the idea has power. And when done right, a tradition can connect people into something bigger than themselves, preparing them to face the world together, tied for a moment to each other and to those who came before.

That’s awe-inspiring.

And even if we all collectively come to our senses and stop the clocks once and for all – you know, actually agree on that great tradition called “time” – we needn’t worry about boredom. There will be other stories, on other days.
Speaking of which – did Pluto get the shaft, or what?

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Do I Feel A Draft?

As a species, we humans are really good at hanging onto silly traditions.

For example, there’s the bizarre idea that groundhogs are expert meteorologists.

Or the concept that our lives are immeasurably improved by adding or subtracting an hour of sleep every year. (As always, I promise to give my vote for life to the politician who succeeds in killing Daylight Saving Time.)

But for sheer useless levels of why-the-heck-do-they-still-do-that, it’s hard to beat registering for a non-existent draft.

Most of you know what I’m talking about, especially my fellow male Americans who have turned 18 since 1973. We’re the group who at one time, under the dire penalty of law usually reserved for the destruction of mattress labels, have had to register for … well, essentially nothing. Once upon a time, that small piece of paper could have gotten you sent to a strange land with a deadly weapon. Today, your library card carries more potential to change your life (especially with my overdue fees).

For over 40 years, it’s been a ritual without meaning, sort of like discussing the chances of a Denver Nuggets NBA championship. So naturally, there’s a chance we may expand it.

Yes, really.

Starting this year, American women became eligible to serve in combat roles for the first time. So naturally, in February, someone in Congress decided that meant women should also be eligible for the draft. If, you know, there were a draft. Which there isn’t likely to ever be. But still – the piece of paper must be filled out, yes?

But there’s also a competing bill, drafted (my apologies) in part by two Colorado congressmen, Democrat Jared Polis and Republican Mike Coffman, and which got a hearing on the radio airwaves this week. This one would also make men and women equal in the eyes of Selective Service … by abolishing Selective Service altogether.

Staggering. I mean, think of all the pencils that would suddenly no longer have a use!

I suppose continuing the Selective Service registration for our 18-to-25-year-olds might make some sense if there were any realistic chance that this country might revive conscription again. And let’s face it – there’s a better chance of seeing Peyton Manning change his mind and come back for one more season with the Denver Broncos than there is of seeing Uncle Sam revert to a draft. (Given recent news, it looks like there’s a better chance of seeing Brock Osweiler come back, too, which is another story and requires paying attention to a different sort of draft altogether.)

Conscription is really good at putting together a really large army really fast. When your biggest threat is another nation-state with a big army of their own, it’s hard to beat for effectiveness. Think of Revolutionary France, surrounded by foes (and then deciding to do a little conquest themselves). Or the Union and Confederacy, locked in mortal combat. Or the 1940s U.S.A., needing to quickly bulk up its forces to take down Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan.

But warfare has changed. Society has changed. In an age of fighting terrorists, insurgents, and other irregular combatants, it’s not as useful a tool. The last time we put conscription to use, we not only generated a large army, we also generated protests, trips to Canada, and really bizarre stories of how so-and-so managed to avoid the draft. (My personal favorite involved a friend who was called for his draft physical during Vietnam, only to be marked 4-F when someone forgot to plug in the device that was supposed to give him his hearing test. “Raise your hand when you hear the tone.” “Uh … OK.”)

We have a volunteer force now, a highly-trained force of people who actually asked to be there. It’s worked pretty well. Barring a massive change in historical trends, it’s liable to keep doing so.

So why keep the pretty, useless (and pretty useless) cards?

Real bipartisan cooperation seems to be pretty rare these days. When we get it, maybe we should listen. By all means, make men and women equally eligible for Selective Service – as in, not eligible at all.

And then, once we’ve got that under our belt, let’s do something about that lost hour of sleep, OK?