Daylight saved is daylight earned

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Ask any three adults you know, I’m talking even the brilliant, highly educated ones. The ones who can’t even match their shoes or tuck in their shirts, they are that smart.
Do they understand daylight-saving time?
Sure, they’ll attempt to come up with some plausible explanation, meander around conversationally for a bit, and generally close with a half-hearted attempt to foist it all off on Benjamin Franklin.
To wit: They haven’t a clue.
Lost. Nonetheless, we’ve bought into this for so long that we’d be lost without our midyear clock chaos.
We’ve grown to love it – in our own perverse way.
But do we ever question the harsh reality behind it? If we’ve been “saving” daylight for so many years, where has it gone?
Think about it. A savings accounts work like this: You “save” something with the idea that it will build up for – how perfect is this? – a rainy day!
Clearly, the endless rain of this summer alone should have tempted us to hit up our account.
Saved. So where is it? Where is this storehouse of daylight just waiting to be tapped?
Has it mellowed like fine wine into a dusky twilight?
Could we live off the daylight savings interest alone? Surely we should have a nice little (well lit) nest egg by now?
No, we all know – sensible adults that we are – that sunny days are impossible to order up on a whim. Although, Lord knows, numerous brides have tried.
So where did all our “saved” daylight go? There is only one explanation: embezzlement.
Stolen. I say we look no further than California.
The West Coast has always had it in for the rest of us. It never rains there, they say. It’s almost always a sunny 70-some degrees.
It’s just about darned near perfect, weatherwise.
Oh really?
I think Seattle (where it rains something like 26 of every 24 hours of the day?) and Alaska (six months of darkness?) should just go over there and demand an audit.
At the very least, they deserve an explanation. I’m just saying

About the Author

Warm, witty and just a wee bit warped, Kymberly Foster Seabolt is a native of Kent, Ohio, who survived childhood exposure to disco and grew up to marry and move to the country. Her column weaves her special brand of humor with poignant, entertaining, and honest portrayals of parenting, marriage, and real life. She currently lives in northeastern Ohio with her husband, two children, two dogs, two cats, and numerous dust bunnies who wish to remain nameless. More Stories by Kymberly Foster Seabolt

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