Hub Russ just celebrated his favorite holiday. You’ll never guess what it is. Ahem, it’s ah, well, Daylight Savings Time. I know. It’s not really a holiday. It’s not like Christmas or the Fourth of July; but for him, it seems to be nearly that exciting. And for him, it’s probably even better than a regular holiday because it comes twice a year.

In the spring, about a week before DST begins, he starts with, “Did you notice it’s getting dark later?”  I nod. Then he says, “In fact, this time next week we get to change the clocks!” He says, “change the clocks” with the same excitement one might say, “win the lottery.”  I nod again and keep reading the newspaper. But he continues. “And, we’ll be able to walk every day when I get home from work.” Now he has my attention because honey, I realize we are approaching bathing suit season! But just like the carrots-and-celery regimen I’ve tried, I know in my heart (and in my stomach) that nothing will ever make me be a size 4. Like I ever was. Not!

This year we celebrated Halloween at a fantastic party with Russell’s friends from work. I was dressed as a preppy tennis player and he was dressed as a mismatched goofy golfer. At Terrie and Mark’s home we were surrounded by costumed pirates, lounge singers, salt and pepper shakers, a gladiator, ballroom dancing partners (with spray painted gold Converse sneakers for Clif, thanks to wife Lynette) and a Jim Carrey look-alike. Shut up! It’s true.

The party was in full gear—rocking 60’s music and group photos—when Russell pointed to his watch, raised his eyebrows and said, “Time to go!” I ignored him because a) that’s what I normally do, and b) I was concentrating on getting a recipe from Terrie for the delicious white chicken chili she was serving. But he mouthed, “Come on!” across the room like a distraught

little boy. He looked pitiful in his “costume” of faded madras shorts, a patriotic golf shirt (red-white-and-blue with stars and stripes), a frayed Izod belt, brown thigh-high dress socks, Top-Siders and a green Master’s cap. So I caved. On the other hand, I felt pretty darn cool, dare I say cocky, strutting around in my black tennis skirt, matching v-neck top and cute little pink cap. Folks asked me, seriously, if I played tennis, to which I replied, “No, y’all. I don’t even own a racket.” Only I said “bracket.” Some wordsmith I am.

I apologized to the hosts for our early leaving and followed Russell to the car. He drove fast and seemed to be concentrating very hard. This is not at all the norm for my husband. I was kind of worried, but I was more worried about ‘did I get that recipe right?’ Did Terrie say cannellini beans or red kidney? We arrived home minutes later and he ran to our bedroom and began unloading his pockets of keys, wallet and loose change. At that moment, I realized his intentions. Sure enough: he frantically began setting all the clocks and appliances to the new time. But I protested! “It’s not official until two a.m.”  Pushing me aside, he said, “Hmph!” and began a search for watches inside jewelry boxes. The man is pathetic! He was bugging me big time, but that’s okay, I had an equally irritating response. You know the kind, as in, “an eye for an eye” and “a nerve for a nerve”? The rest of the night I said to him, “It’s not really ten o’clock. It’s eleven o’clock.” I kept this up every hour on the hour until two a.m. Not really, but I wanted to.

I don’t understand Daylight Savings Time. Is it ‘spring forward, fall backward?’, ‘or is it ‘spring backward, fall forward?’ And who’s in charge of this crazy idea, anyway? It seems like it would make more sense to keep Daylight Savings Time going into the fall because, duh!  Instead

of getting dark at 6, it’s now getting dark at 5; so we’re losing. We’re having Daylight Losing Time! What kind of logic is that? I’d rather have the extra hour of daylight in the winter and settle for losing an hour of daylight in the summer. Then it’d get dark at 8 instead of 9. Are you with me? And should I write my Congressman or Senator about this? Do you think they’d care?

Well, on a side note, I recently lost my favorite watch. When visiting my parents, I gardened—deadheading rose bushes and huge hydrangeas, then pulled weeds, and dumped a big pile into their trash can. I was afraid the watch went with it. Well, guess what? It didn't. Mom found it and I’m now wearing it tonight. In fact I almost missed my favorite T.V. show. Then I realized I simply hadn't reset the time. Not to worry, I’ll save that for Russell. I want to see the look of delight on his face when I tell him there's one more watch to set.

Ann Ipock “Life Is Short, So Read This Fast!” amipock@ec.rr.com www.annipock.com