It's About Time

By G. E. Shuman

The cheap, white plastic wall clock in our bathroom just died the other day. I think the reason is that it was just not designed to survive in a humid place like a bathroom. Go figure. I tried electro-shock, replacing the double-A Duracell in the clock, but it still only ran for another day or so. I took this as a sign that the clock's old ticker was about shot, and gave up trying to revive it. Probably not a lot of families have a clock on the wall of their bathroom, but this one does. We decided, several years ago, that it would be better to know how far ahead of, or behind schedule each family member might be, in using their share of precious morning shower time. Time really can run away from us, 'at times,' especially during a sleepy, steamy turn in the shower.

To me, the problem with time (Yes, I do have a problem with time.) is that we feel the need to keep measuring every second of it, 'all the time' and we live by those darned measurements. We set our clocks by them, so to speak. As I mentioned, my family even showers by them. The moment a baby is born the time is recorded, just as if knowing the exact second that child left the womb will someday have monumental significance, to someone. The baby is born at a certain hour, minute and second, am, pm, eastern, central, Pacific, or whatever other time might be the precise local moment of the birth, on earth. Then, for that baby, the main goal is to just make it to his or her first birthday, celebrated with presents, before the babe has any idea what a present is, and a cake with one candle. A year later there will be another cake, but with two candles. Next July tenth one of those babies, (your's truly) will need a cake with sixty candles. The Barre fire department has been notified of the date, and is very happy that I don't particularly like cake.

It has lately occurred to me that all of this candle-counting, life-measuring stuff could be a waste of 'time,' because I'm pretty sure that there is no such thing as that thing we call time. Truthfully, honestly, I believe that our race, many years ago, tinkered around, fooled around, and frantically fashioned mechanical things, (Such things eventually evolved into our cheap plastic bathroom clock.) to measure something that really doesn't exist at all. That's right. I'm taking some time to think that time, the thing we humans stress over and live by, does not exist. Minutes and hours and weeks and months and years and centuries define us, but those things may be only in the human mind. They are, simply, the accumulating and accumulated results of us, and our machines, attempting to measure the distance between two precise points in something that does not even exist at all. Spooky, huh? Well, let me explain just a little before you send the men in the nice white coats to give me one of those jackets with the long, wrap-around sleeves.

You see, to me, with the accompanying nod of many of the world's poets and scientists of the past, all that we human beings have is 'right now.' We have this moment... this very moment. That is all. In fact, we barely have even that. Right as we realize that we have a moment, that moment is gone. “The Present is a Point just passed.” -David Russell. Time is, as the Bible says the very life of man is, “a vapor.” We cannot change even one tiny thing about the past, not even something within the moment that only just passed. There is good reason for this. The past no longer exists, and you cannot change anything about something that does not exist. (I'm starting to get a headache.) We, also, although we may plan, cannot control the future, as it is not yet here. Not only is next year not yet here, neither is the next nanosecond. Therefore, the future exists no more than does the past, that is, until that fleeting moment when the future becomes the present. And a nanosecond after that, it does not exist again, as it is now in the past. As humans, we are probably the only living things on earth that even think about time. I am unconvinced that my wife's dachshund has any notion of the passing of a day, or of the idea of 'now.' And, even for that dog, 'now' is all that there is. Somehow, this doesn't seem to worry the dog at all.

I have no idea why the sad passing of our bathroom clock got me to thinking about all of this, but I'm glad that it did. It seems to have given me the opportunity to remind you, and myself also, to not fret about the past, as it is unchangeable, gone from existence, and the negative things of it should be gone from our remembrance. The apostle Paul knew this, two thousand years ago. “Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before,” Philippians 3:13-14. 

Likewise, we also have no promise of tomorrow, or even of the next second, as recorded in Matthew 6:34  “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.” We need to live in the only time we have. We need to live right now... no, not in that point few seconds ago, when you began reading this sentence, right now.

I believe that we human types have no idea what in the world time really is, even as we try to capture it, keep it, and measure it with our machines. Really, all we can do is record time's passing, and I do suppose there are reasons to do that. It is important that I get to work on time. I need to end this column and go buy another cheap plastic clock for the bathroom. I think it's about time. You probably think so, too.

                

                                                                            

Something to Think About

With relatively little national fanfare, today, November 19th. 2013, marked the 150th anniversary of President Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Address.

 If you didn't notice the passing of this momentous date, you are not alone. Many of us went about our day unaware of, or unconcerned with this day's significance.   Even our President, Barack Hussein Obama, who was invited to the ceremonies at Gettysburg, declined the invitation to attend.  Think of that.  Our country's first black president, only fifteen decades past a date when he, himself, could have been enslaved here, would not make time to attend a celebration in honor of the end of our country's Civil War. 

 Vermont is known as a very progressive state, but progressiveness hints at the idea of actual progress.  Those who follow any leader had better look ahead, and see in what direction that leader is taking him.  It's something to think about.

George Eleon Shuman
Barre, Vt.

Snow Tires

by G. E. Shuman



There are parts of the usual ritual of fall that I don't really mind... and then there are snow tires. “Tucking in” for fall is just something I do every year; checking the house for leaks around the outside doors, removing window air conditioners, arranging for fuel deliveries, and so on. And then there are snow tires. I just hate snow tires.
I realize, and I appreciate, the fact that we have these special tires to make driving here in the north at least a bit less life-threatening, but there is no way that getting those things put on my cars every year is anything less than torturous. Firstly, every year you have to figure out where the best place is to mount them. (I know, you mount them on your wheels. Ha Ha. I mean, what garage is the best place to have them mounted AT.) I have sometimes had tires mounted, and the first time on the highway realize that someone forgot to put a wheel weight on. Oh darn. Silly garage man. This is not a big deal, unless you think it's a big deal making another appointment at the garage, and then waiting and waiting for your weight, as the man runs back and forth from balancing your tire to pumping gas for someone, to answering the phone while ringing up beer and potato chips for a guy standing at the checkout in the garage's attached convenience store.
One factor in choosing a garage is the price they will charge for installing the tires, but this is not the only factor. (Please see the previous paragraph.) One other factor is the time it takes to get the job done. A local car dealership (I will mention no names here.) that I have paid in the past to swap my tires, keeps you waiting in their waiting-and-waiting room, for at least two hours. It doesn't seem to matter if you are having your engine replaced or a light bulb replaced... it just always takes at least two hours. They do have a nice TV to watch, but I'd rather spend a day on my couch than on theirs. I think that a lot of car dealerships are this way. Maybe they think that you will just decide: “Well, since I'm sitting on this nice couch, watching this nice TV, surrounded by all of these nice, shiny, new showroom cars (which are evidently watching the nice TV with me,) I might as well buy one, so that this is not a complete waste of my time.” I really do think those dealerships think that way.
This year there are three cars in my driveway... which means that there were three tire appointments to make, and twelve chances for a wrongly-balanced tire, and twelve more chances that one of them won't hold air or have some other dumb, irritating, and time-consuming problem. Not to seem pessimistic, but this means that I have at least twenty four chances of having to take one of the cars in to have a tire looked at, again. What better odds could there be than that? Fortunately, this year I have a plan. The plan is called 'my nineteen year old son.' I'm not the kind of dad who feels that he has 'paid his dues,' and that it's someone else's turn to do some of the dirty, tedious jobs. That is, I'm not that kind of dad... until it comes to snow tires. In the case of those things, it's payback time for Dad. This year I may just not be the one to lug snow tires up from the basement and wait in some waiting room 'til my hair turns gray. (It's a bit late for that, anyway.) Truthfully, I really do hate snow tires.

Spring will, hopefully, be here before we know it. So will the time to spend another fifty dollars or so to have those ol' snow tires removed again, from EACH car. I have recently heard a saying I had never heard before. It is that “The outcome of a rain dance has a lot to do with timing.” That has nothing to do with the subject of snow tires, but I thought it was profound, and wanted to share it with you. (Minds tend to wander with advancing age.) I will say that your snow tire changeover has at least a little to do with timing, but more to do with where you take your car. I think the best place for me to take my car this year is somewhere in Florida.