It’s not really morning anymore.
I’ve already been outside walking in the woods with my dogs today.
I’ve had my morning coffee.
I’ve returned three telephone calls from messages left on my answering machine.
I’m watching the clock, counting time before I have to get ready to go to work.
Today was the day I could set the clocks back, for Daylight Savings Time.
One extra hour!
I saved the act of re-setting clocks for morning, so it would seem like a bonus.
One extra hour to drink coffee or write or read or lounge in a bubble bath!
One extra hour to catch up on the dozens of tasks there are not time for in a normal day!
One extra hour of golden time!
I slept through it.
Simple as that, I slept through it.
For years, I teased my friend, Diane, about her tardiness. She was late for everything, to the extreme. She is famous for it, still, here on Beaver Island. Everyone has a “Diane was so late…” story. She always said she’d be late for her own funeral. In fact, for that, she was too early, in my mind.
In the last several years, I found myself developing Diane’s habit myself, of being less than punctual. I was getting pretty lackadaisical about it, too. After all, we live on an island where bumper stickers say, “Slow Down…this ain’t the Mainland!” and “There is no LATE on Beaver Island!”. We talk about the slower pace and more relaxed schedules of “island time”. Then, my aunt gave me a pretty stern lecture about the inconsideration of tardiness. I took it to heart. I set my clocks ahead.
I allow myself to be fooled by whatever the clock says.
It helps that each clock says something different, so I’m not sure which one to trust.
So, this morning, I started the coffee brewing, and went room to room.
The little, old-fashioned dial clock in the bathroom, back one hour. Still twenty minutes fast, so I won’t linger too long in the bathtub, or take too much time tweezing things or trying to do something creative with my hair.
The digital clock in the CD player on the bookshelf in the living room, back one hour, still ten minutes fast.
The small, battery-operated alarm clock in the bedroom, back one hour, twenty-five minutes fast. To allow for me to hit the “snooze” button at least twice, and still be pleasantly surprised by the earliness of the hour when I make it to the next clock.
The large, schoolhouse clock in the kitchen, back one hour, fifteen minutes fast. This clock loses time pretty regularly, so I have to keep my eye on it. Sometimes I set it a little extra-fast, to compensate.
The little clock on the oven and the watch I wear on my wrist, I set back one hour to the correct time. I need to be, at some point, in touch with real time. I can’t actually read either of these dials without my glasses.
By that time, the coffee was finished.
I poured a cup.
Last week, I took a phone call from a friend before my coffee had finished brewing. We ended up in a discussion that had no business happening, and that left us both feeling bitter.
Now, I don’t answer the phone until I’m ready to talk.
I usually sit at the computer checking my e-mail account while drinking my first cup of coffee. The dogs can go out at this time, but they can’t go in and out, in and out, and they can’t beg for treats, or bother me for their morning walk.
I have enjoyed thinking that they understand when I say, “First cup of coffee!”
Turns out, they don’t.
It turns out, my dogs cannot tell time, either, and don’t care one bit about Daylight Savings Time.
No matter how diligently I set every clock back one hour, when I overslept this morning, I got up just in time for their walk, and they weren’t about to have it any other way.
Now, my bonus hour is gone.