Why must people look a gift horse in the mouth? I used to struggle with that expression — until someone wiser explained.
I surmise the expression refers to those who question the quality of something given to them. Accordingly, if you receive a horse with no reins attached, you should be grateful and not check under the hood to determine the age, health, strength or orneriness of the beast.
As a teacher, I struggled with the notion of penalizing students for slips and falls way early in the course. Essentially — like many of my colleagues — I threw out the lowest grade students had received that term, on the assumption that every student is entitled to one poorformance. Then one kid asked, “What you doing that for?” My response, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Remember, a foolproof way of determining a horse’s age is by counting the teeth.
We’re getting a version of that on Facebook, the online chat room that lets users spill out whatever they want. Some turn it into a religious pilgrimage, guaranteeing that if you write “amen” to a posting, untold riches will be yours in 15 minutes. Others simply like to chat or play games. Some post family photos. But too many people “doth protest too much” in the sense of using Facebook for bragging on themselves.
And finally, some use Facebook to lament. Sunday was a perfect occasion for that. One outspoken critic of Daylight Saving Time complained and drew a host of followers, some with repetitious arguments as to why the clock change is bad for us.
Well, I favor Daylight Saving Time as long as it lasts, and I like its counterpart (Mountain Standard Time) while it lasts. Now the system isn’t perfect, and those who delve into history books know that adding an hour of daylight in the evening helped agrarians who worked the fields, trying to conserve every precious minute of daylight. Some who oppose Daylight Saving Time argue that in modern times farmers aren’t hitchin’ up teams of mules to do the plowing.
I’m sure some people are convinced that we’re actually attempting to tamper with nature. But truth be old, all we’re doing, twice a year, is making a minor adjustment to our clocks. Honest! We’re not trying to make time stand still or to speed up.
But yet, some people have complained that when we revert to regular time, the extra hour of dark causes dogs to bark longer. Another argument is that kids catching school buses in mid-March need to get on in the dark. Some TV stations have used that — and will continue to use that — as a way of influencing the legislature to end Daylight Saving Time.
Let’s not forget that as we move toward spring, and then summer, the amount of daylight grows by a minute or two each day, and we therefore don’t need to be overly concerned about hopping on a bus in deep darkness.
When my parents were alive, I’d get a phone call twice a year from Mom, asking me to reset the clock in her car. And for that, she’d slip me a 20, usually hiding it in my jacket. A 20 for that?
Some car clock adjustments virtually require a Ph.D. in engineering to make the switch, but in Mom’s case, the tip of a ball-point pen did the trick. (And I’d then treat Mom and Dad to a meal at the Hillcrest with my new-gained wealth).
Daylight Saving (note: Saving doesn’t take an “s” at the end) Time might work better if people took advantage of the perks implied. And here’s where the Gift Horse might kick in. For example, does a single store in Las Vegas remain open an hour longer during Daylight Standard Time? Do municipalities change their curfew ordinances to accommodate the later starting times for drive-in movies or athletic events?
The Daylight Saving Time gift comes in allowing us an extra hour in the evening for walks, games, barbecues.
The first day of the time change prompts my wife, Bonnie, to ask, “What time is it — really?” Do you mean the time now, or the time it used to be?
A test of how well people have paid attention rests in church attendance. The glorious mystery of why congregations one day in March are sparse and why Sunday schools bulge in the fall might rest in whether we adjusted our clock at the right time.
Most people advance the clock upon retiring for the night. But not my friend, who would set an alarm clock for 2 a.m. on that fateful morning. Thus, awakening, he’d set all the clocks at that time rather than adjusting them before he went to bed.
• • •
Inclement weather and the resultant pot holes wreak havoc with tires. Why, then, is it so difficult to find a place that provides air when you need it? We were involved in an air-less experience with a friend a week ago and thought of a host of places to pump up our friend’s tires.
The first station, part of a popular chain, had placed plastic bags over the gauges to show they were out of service. The next two places, on Grand, had removed the hoses entirely. Then we drove up the hill on Grand, where an elderly man tried to coax air out of a pump that had the pressure of a soda straw. I entered the convenience store, to ask the attendant to turn on the air for the panicky gentleman. “Oh, they’re both broken,” the clerk said, as if expecting me to have known that.
“But there’s no sign there. That man drained all the air out of his tire,” I said.
Shrug.
The sixth place we tried had the pumps and hoses displayed, and even some air inside the hoses.
Thanks, Franken Tire Center on Seventh Street.
• • •
In last week’s column, about post-prom activity in the ‘50s, I identified the Home Cafe and the Silver Spur as the only restaurants that remained open 24-7. Richard Lindeborg, a frequent contributor to this column, told me I’d implied that we now have more such always-open places.
I was wrong. I don’t know of a single all-night restaurant today, where real people deliver real food to one’s table. The only things that come close are the 24-hour drive-through places like McDonalds.
Thanks, Richard, for keeping me honest.