The clock over my sink drew a second look from many visitors to the House of Mars this summer. My cousin Janet, visiting from Brooklyn, thought she’d entered a time warp. What else would explain the fact that she arrived on the 4:10 train, then accompanied me on a detour home to forage the necessities for making watermelon margaritas, and yet arrived in my kitchen at 4:20. Others were less dramatic, and just asked outright “Is that clock right?” My answer to all seekers remained the same – yes, kind of.
You see, I’ve hated climbing up to take it down to turn the clock forward, or back, as the season and the news programs dictate. And so this year, after several months of conveniently forgetting, I decided on July first since I was as close to Eastern Standard Time as I was to Daylight Savings Time, I’d just bide my time until the clock would sync itself with reality.
Or so I thought until the middle of August when it became permanently 3:42 over-the-sink-in-the kitchen-of-The-House-of- Mars. The battery up and died, and so unless I wanted to live a life just short of the witching hour of British tea time, I’d have to climb up there after all.
Score one for Father Time. Score another advanced case of procrastination for me – I decided to wait until November 1 to do both, fall back (not off the ladder, I hoped), and change the battery.
Finally the day arrived.
I checked the clock. I needed AA
Thanks to my friend, John, an emergency-phobe, I always keep a box-load of batteries to tide me over though any power outage. I checked my stash.
every thing but AA
Lesson learned – Don’t Mess with Father Time