“What time is it? No! I mean, what time is it — really?”
That question I’ve needed to answer twice a year for 48 years. The query from my wife, Bonnie, occurs 1) when Daylight Saving Time begins and 2) when Standard Time begins and DST ends. And it takes her about six months to get used to the new time.
And she asks me the same questions twice a year without any regard to what suffering I endure. After all, it’s not easy resetting some 30 clocks. If you count the number of battery-operated wall clocks and add the dozens of electronic gadgets around the house, such as computers, iPads and cell phones, then reset the car clocks, that becomes a full-time job.
But let me go on the record as favoring the two biennial time changes. I like long summer days, where the sun remains up and out long enough for us to complete our barbecue party. And I like Standard Time too, when it gets dark early, meaning it’s time to get to work on reading, grading papers, writing articles, doing paper work.
Our son, Stanley Adam, who’s been a resident of Denmark for about eight years, says he’s still amazed that the radical meteorological conditions in that part of Scandinavia. Certain times of the year the sun rises around 10 a.m., pauses to think about it, and by 3 p.m., goes back into hiding, allowing Danes all of five hours of what they call daylight.
This week, the “What time is it” query suddenly has become compounded by “Who were you talking to on the phone.” Bonnie asked that question frequently while grading papers and leaving me with the job of answering the phone.
Let me explain:
One of the reasons we have 4,772 fewer magazine subscriptions this year is that we ordered a service from the phone company that, for a monthly fee we gladly pay, screens all calls. A voice cuts in before our phone even rings, shooing away all telemarketers. The voice instructs the caller, “If you are a telemarketer, please hang up and add this number to your do-not-call list.” Then, if the caller is not out to sell us magazines, the caller punches in one more number and gets across. All this takes place before we even hear our phone ring.
Bonnie’s curiosity was piqued several times this week when our phone rang frequently. The first time she asked whom I was talking to, I answered: Sen. Tom Udall. The second time: Rep. Ben Ray Luján. “Oh, then you have friends in high places. Next time tell them ‘hi’ for me.”
But I’d fudged. I hadn’t actually been conversing with the politicos; rather, I was listening to their spiel. Apparently they want to make sure we got the message, as they’ve called frequently. Like most caller I.D.s, ours shows the name and number of the caller and even announces the name.
But for political calls, all the voice seems to provide is the number. So I answer. Because I was in a hurry one time this week, I hung up before the caller began his spiel. Five minutes later, the robo-call began with, “I’m sorry I missed you the first time . . . “ Electronics has become so clever! Now all of this lamentation isn’t to single out our representative and our senator; others use the telephone to tout their candidacy or to knock their opponent. Interesting that their calls become so frequent around election time, then suddenly vanish. Like the jilted person saying good night on the first date, we wonder, “Will they call again?”
Probably not, at least not right away. We’ll assuredly hear from them on the eve of the next election, should they choose to run.
• • •
How does anyone ever learn English? I’ve asked that question a number of times, given that there are so many words to identify a single item, and a slew of sound-alike words that have little or no relation to one another.
‘An example of a multitude of words to describe a single object would be “futon,” “sofa,” “couch,” “lounge,” “divan” and “davenport.” True, some people are able to cite subtle differences, that is, to explain why a sofa is just that, and not a divan. But for the most part, people don’t worry about these distinctions.
Once, in looking over a composition by son Stan, I noticed he used “coward” as a verb: “And once the bully felt danger, he coward.” Obviously, Stan meant “cowered.” In addition to sound-alikes with different meanings, there are easily confused words that some people use because they once heard them and thought they fit.
Now here’s your chance to spot the improper words. You get extra credit if you can supply the correct word.
Here goes:
The young man coward as he backed off. He’d been involved in a heated coral about the Second Amendment and the phrase about “well-regulated malicious.”
The young man stepped foreword vapidly. He wondered about the other man, who had been a licentious-plate distributor in San Miguel County and who several times had invited him to supplicate at the dinner table.
The two continued to have strained retaliations. In fact, the older man had fetid the youngster at a bouquet. Well, the follower of the Second Amendment made a predilection. “I’m not a hypnotist who practices nepotism, but I still wonder about this dude,” he said, looking at the man akimbo.
Well, the standoff ended with a shooting by the defender of the constitution. The injury required a seven-hour apparition. The doctors described the victim as mendacious and predicated a speedy recovery. Yet, the healing seemed to make the victim feel invisible; he soon engaged in frequent carousels in bars and even flaunted the law.
We’d be remorse if we omitted that once an accident accrued as the victim was driving drunk, but he was able to escape punishment because the quotation the cop issued him was written on irascible bond paper.
My sentiments exactly.