...And I Wish I'd Thought of That

Tomorrow we set our clocks back one hour which is fine by me. (I wrote that sentence with nary a comma because I prefer the sound of the sentence with no breaks. But my wife typically edits my little essays, grumbling about having to throw in commas because I never do. So if you see a comma in the first two sentences, or in this sentence, you will know that [those] comma[s] belong[s] to her and not to me. This is because Mrs. Wilson, Woodrow Wilson's wife, was always confused about the time, so Woodrow drafted a new time change law in a valiant attempt to drive her crazy and get rid of her so he could cozy up to Rebecca, the aunt of his Secretary of State. (I think I would make a dynamite history teacher except for the fact that I tend to make up historical facts to explain stuff.) I try not to figure out what impact resetting my clocks twice a year will have on me the next day, because I then get lost in a fog of: 'If it is now 5:30 then when the time changes it will be....'. I just let it come and roll with it.

When I sit down to write a blog essay, I usually do so with little aforethought. If I read something interesting the previous week I will return to it and use it as a basis to write about. But more than likely, I will just sit and start writing. I normally do this early on a Saturday morning. This morning I awoke at 5:00 a.m. and sat in front of the TV with my coffee and watched a DVR recording of Sherlock Holmes (Masterpiece Theater). Then I stumbled into my office and sat down to write. And nothing. Now I could have written a diary entry, I guess, and told of what happened the previous week and what I plan will happen next week...but frankly, that bores me. I entertain myself by writing and I certainly wouldn't be entertained by that. So when nothing came to mind to discuss, I did the smart thing and walked away. It is now after 4:00 p.m. and I find myself in the same situation and I wonder why I am not walking away?

I once read a book about a fellow who dedicated a significant amount of time writing to manufacturers explaining what they were doing wrong and what they should be doing, and then would end his letters by pointing out that he had the expertise to figure out what was wrong so they really should consider hiring him as a consultant. The letters were pretty much tongue-in-cheek. He would complain about the color combination of the labels of soup cans, or the location of freezer compartments on refrigerators, or about why lamps always had the light source at the top of the lamp and why not in the middle or the bottom. What is fascinating about this is that more often than not, the company in question would respond....and if the item under discussion was small enough, would bless him with a free carton of whatever it was (think 'soup'). Sometimes the responding letters were just as tongue-in-cheek so they would exchange  correspondence trying to outdo each other. It was great fun. The author's file of correspondence was so thick that he figured he could write a book about his correspondence through the years. Now there was a gentleman that wrote to entertain himself (and I wish I'd thought of that).

Back in the seventies, I read a book about a rather stern widow school teacher who, through a series of improbable situations, found herself elected President. During her first press conference, the reporters jumped to their feet shouting questions at her and she stood there with her hands on her hips and shouted, "Sit down! Fourth graders behave better than you. You will raise your hand politely and wait until you are called upon!" What was neat and funny is that she didn't understand nuclear disarmament or behind-the-scenes political in-fighting....she rather confronted every issue head-on as a simple problem and addressed it with the common sense practical approach of a stiff-necked teacher who would harbor no back talk. She had no interest in being President, so didn't give a damn about what people thought. Of course, she was a success and the country thrived, and she refused to run again, and it was a lot of fun to read. The author had to chuckle as he wrote it. He entertained himself (and I wish I'd thought of that).

Quite a while ago there was an eleven year-old girl that got it into her head that she wanted the signatures of the Heads of States of all the countries. She asked her father about it, and he wisely said, "Write them a letter." So she started with a hand-written letter to the "We will bury you" Nikita Khrushchev. Well, Nikita's aides got the letter and figured it would be good public relations to comply with her request....this sweet little girl that is forced to live in that capitalist war-monger country. So he wrote her a letter back that not only had his signature but the Seal of the Presidents office. So next she wrote a letter to the President of the United States. There was no response. So she tried again, explaining that if the President of Russia could send his signature and the Presidential Seal, why couldn't her very own president? Quickly she received a letter from the President with the Seal. She plunged ahead, writing letters and letters to Kings and Queens and Presidents explaining how the U.S. President and the Russian President kindly complied with her request, and that she would be honored if they would do so too. She amassed forty or fifty signatures and seals from around the world. She was clearly on a mission and enjoyed writing (and I wish I'd thought of that).

So perhaps I will think of something to entertain myself next week right here, after the time change, an hour....let's see, if it is 6:00 now then it will be....  

[My editor wife said I needed pictures.]