It’s funny to me that we don’t all turn the clocks at the same time. We did in France this morning. The US will do it next weekend. It probably shouldn’t seem strange, after all if I really think about it, when did any of us change at the same time?

I remember once at the Office Depot in Minneapolis, the morning after the time change, we were discussing it at the counter while waiting to ship out packages. A few liked the extra hour of sleep. One dismayed over the upset to her sleep pattern. Another, and the most surprising, said, “Oh, I don’t do it.” Well, what do you mean? We all asked. She explained, with complete certainty, “Oh, I just change my watch a few minutes throughout the year, so when the time to change actually comes, it doesn’t seem that drastic.” But then you’re never, ever, at the right time, we questioned still. “No,” she smiled, as if that were completely fine with her. 

I guess we all find a way to navigate through this world. 

My mother always loved to dance in the kitchen. In our second house on Van Dyke Road, there was a large, heavy light fixture overhead the “dance floor.” I was downstairs when I heard the call of the music. Peeking around the corner, my delight turned to horror, as I saw one of her long arms rising to the beat and knocking the weighted glass. It tumbled, just missing her head, and came crashing to the floor. Without missing a beat of the music, (the music always continues to play), she looked at the fear on my face and said, “But did you see me dance though…”. 

So we fell back a little, we still have to, get to, rise up!