By INGRID MCCLEARY
I don't know about you, but I'm still recovering from the double whammy of Easter Sunday/Daylight Savings Time change. Seems to me that if we can shift time-as-we-know-it by springing forward or falling back one hour, we should also be able to move the date so that it doesn't fall on a major holiday involving chocolate and kids.
In fact, if I had my druthers, I'd save the time jumps for important days, like springing forward the one hour between 11 p.m. and midnight on New Year's Eve so we can break our New Year's resolutions that much sooner. And I'd save the falling back one hour for April 15, giving procrastinators that extra hour to finish those #!@$ income taxes.
Okay, so those months don't reflect the true nature of our earth-sun cycle, but we didn't start Daylight Savings Time to keep in tune with nature in the first place.
Benjamin Franklin first proposed it back in 1874 for economic reasons: candles were expensive. William Willet fought for it from 1908 to 1916, but Congress didn't listen until World War I struck and coal became so expensive.
However, the farmers raised a royal ruckus; seems their milk cows weren't cooperating with the new schedule. I can relate to that: My cats congregate in the kitchen at 6 p.m., waiting for their chow. Every October I tell them, "It's only 5 p.m. now. Come back in an hour.''
Of course, they simply sit placidly on the counters till I give in (the arrogant things). I think it underscores the point that humans may change time, but it doesn't change our natural biorhythms.
Back to the farmers: Have you ever tried harvesting dew-dampened crops? Not fun. So America went back to Standard Time till World War II, where fuel conservation came back into play.
Now, daylight savings' main purpose is to give us more recreational daylight, with energy conservation as its sidekick.
But if given the choice (each state can claim exemption from DST), I'd abolish the whole time jump thing altogether. It's hard enough regulating my children's time schedules without having to listen to "If you think I'm safe outside at 8:30 in the summer, why wouldn't I be safe at 8:30 in the winter?"
The whole business confuses me. In October, it's dark by 5 p.m. (which means kids are running through shadowed streets on Halloween). Each ensuing month adds another 20 minutes before nightfall descends, and by the time April rolls around we're back at a comfortable 7 p.m. But instead of leaving well enough alone, we jump forward, confusing kids, pets, roosters and air-traffic controllers.
If we left time alone, Dark would plod along, adding 20 minutes to its name every month from February till August and then would naturally downshift 20 minutes per month till the following January. Night would fall between 6 and 8 p.m., a reasonable, consistent two-hour shift. Now it boomerangs between 5 and 9 p.m.
April already has a hard life. It's a month of contradictory emotions. There's the hope in Easter and the promise of Earth Day conflicting with the tomfoolery on April 1st and April 15th.
Poor April. "April showers bring May flowers." All the glory goes to May. April should revel in its own glory.
I suppose you could argue that the 22nd is April's glory day. Earth Day, when we pause, reflect, learn, and respect Mother Earth. I'd like to thank whoever designated April 22 as Earth Day. A good choice.
In fact, I'd like to talk with that person to see if we can have Standard Time installed on April 22. If there's ever a day when people need more time to reflect, it's Earth Day.
This article appeared in the Sunnyvale Sun, April 17, 1996.
©1996 Metro Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved.