"This coffee must be broken. I am still tired." ~ copied

I've heard a lot of people talking about the impact of the time change on their energy level. I suppose when you get into the older category you are not sure what to attribute any current malaise, ache or pain. Don't laugh. Most countries have adopted the 65-year threshold as the entry-level designation of older-age. At any rate, I did notice at our services at our local fellowship this past time-change Sunday there did appear to be a larger number of zombied-out folks wandering around. While that is my way of putting it, I am only trying to put into words all the laments I heard regarding the awful time change. It's Tuesday, March 10, 2020, and I do hope you have recovered from this most difficult adjustment. I had changed our clocks early Saturday evening and I think I was in bed by 11 p.m. or 10 p.m. in the old-time. I was up at 4:45 a.m. or 3:45 a.m. in the old-time to finish up on my Bible study lesson. If Mr. Bentley was confused about the time change he didn't show it. Once I take him outside, he typically enjoys returning to his dreamworld in his favorite rocking chair. You do know if I am in that chair and I get up to go and fetch another cup of Community, well, he will take my chair. He practices the same system as the town barber did where I grew up, the sign was clear: If you leave your chair you lose your place in line. My point about the time change is how it has been proven to impact some folks. Maybe even me. I just don't have enough evidence to complain so much about it. And, I already have a good list of other complaints ready at the drop of the hat. (The phrase ‘at the drop of a hat’ originated in the 19th century. During that time it was common to signal the beginning of a fight or race by either dropping a hat or sweeping it in a rapid downward motion.)

It is Spring Break here in our area. Saturday morning when Mr. Bentley and I did our drive-around of the neighborhood around 7 a.m., we saw a young man walking down the road and he had a very dejected look on his face. He is maybe a first-year junior high kid. I told Mr. Bentley this is what happens when you are the only one up early on the first Saturday of Spring Break. He obviously had gone to several of his buddies but not a creature was stirring not even a mouse. I saw him walking by our house a little later and I asked him if all his friends were sleeping in. He said, "Yeah, I guess so." I think we used to get some days off from school the week before Resurrection Sunday but I have no recollection of us going anywhere or doing anything special. Us boys likely went down to the creek and messed around, did a little fishing, and, no doubt spent some serious time thinking up any mischief we might want to pursue. I know we, as a family, did go on vacation before dad died in 1954 because I do have the photos to prove it. I can't remember our pitiful group doing so with our widowed mom. At the same time, and, in the same breath, I can't even conjure up any type of bad feeling about it. We did what we did, one day at a time, and found the best way to entertain ourselves, mostly outside. That may have been a requirement. I'm still looking for something really bad to blame all my troubles on. Not today! The quest continues.

Don't get me wrong. I did get to go places from time to time. I had an uncle and aunt who used to take me home with them from rural town Louisiana to Port Arthur, Texas. I always enjoyed spending time with them. When I got a little older I would ride the train using the rail pass they gave to us when dad passed away. That's where I fell in love with trains. The smells, the sounds, the rocking along the rails, all of that made it a wonderful escape and adventure for me. I do very much recall some of the fellows in my grade school classes who lived on farms. They could only go with the rest of us when their chores were done. They had to get up early in the morning and take care of their animals and other related daily assignments. I thought I was living in a remote world but their lives were lived out in one that was really foreign. They used to call me a town boy. Somehow, a population of less than 500 with one flashing caution light didn't sound much like a town but to them, I might as well been living in a big city. See what I mean? Life is at times defined by the 'compared to what' analysis. It's the old cliche about complaining about your shoes until you meet a man who has no feet. I look back knowing we had many challenges and much sorrow. Don't challenge me on that. However, I feel good about being brought up the way I was and even the where I was. I do. I really do. What say you? May God bless. Amen. ....More later.