Unintentional Hilarity

Marine Son, who is currently serving in Iraq, is being promoted tomorrow. It was supposed to happen in October, but for whatever reason has been moved up.

In this technologically advanced age, my daughter-in-law and baby grandson will be "attending" the ceremony via some form of broadcast.

I sent him congrats today, and I wanted to send another set of congrats to reach him "tomorrow," whenever that might be in Iraq. So I did a Google search to find out what time exactly it might be there right now.

The site I chose to click offers its information in exchange for hawking services. I'm sure they use the same language for all places and just insert the name of the city or country the site visitor has chosen. Hence, this unintentionally ironic howler, emphasis mine:

Traveling to Iraq soon?
Start planning your trip with VirtualTourist.com! You'll find travel guides and reviews with real traveler tips and photos on hotels, restaurants, nightlife, shopping and things to do (or not do). You can even meet locals in Iraq and make friends with them before your trip!

Just Because I Don't Say Anything, It Doesn't Mean I Don't Love You

A general notice to my blog-pals: for the last, oh, two months or so, my back has been against the proverbial wall, time-wise. I'm astonished that I've posted anything here at all, but in each case it was something I could spit out in 10 minutes or so. Lately that's been me: the 10-Minute Blogger.

I've also been visiting my favorite haunts, but not always commenting. That's been the compromise. I allow myself the time to read, but mostly I nod and move on.

This behavior will continue for at least another two to three weeks, when my back should be released from the proverbial wall, and I will return to my normal level of over-stress.

I just wanted to let you know, if I haven't been commenting on your blog, that I'm still reading in fits and starts, and I'll be back. Please don't forget about me.

And now, to make sure this post doesn't go over my 10-minute time limit, I'll sign off and see you in a few weeks. Or sooner. Maybe.

Time and loss

My work office is a mess. I moved out of the old one and into the new in August, in media res: trying to pack, unpack, plan, and start a new semester all at once. However, the most immediate chores always win the Bitty's Time Sweepstakes, so the clutter just keeps cluttering.

Little by little I unpack and rearrange: a pile, a box, an envelope here and there. I recently came across an envelope of photos that were formerly taped to my old office's wall and in them was a particularly beloved one of Grammie and her lifelong friend Reeney (who deserves a post all of her own someday), taken in my kitchen on May 20, 1995. (I know this because once upon a time I properly labeled my photos...). At the time, Grammie was a robust 82; Reeney was a few years older. I propped the photo in front of the monitor.

Looking at it today, I realized that it really is a record of the past: Reeney died in 1998, Grammie last year. I threw away the miniblinds a few months ago, and the chairs the ladies are sitting in now wait in my living room for me to take them to the local women's shelter thrift store this weekend. The only tangible objects in the photo still in my life are the door handle that peeks out from behind the blinds, the coffee mug in front of Reeney, and the blouse Grammie is wearing. (I kept a suitcase full of her blouses, a time capsule that comforts me even though I haven't opened it once since I packed it over a year ago.)

The things and people that surround us seem so permanent because we see them day after day.

And then suddenly we look around and everything is different.

Time

I feel ever-constricted by time, but it's not time's fault: it's the way our social structure uses and abuses it. In his poem “A Martian Sends a Postcard Home,” Craig Raine catches this idea perfectly as the “Martian” tries to explain life on Earth:

… time is tied to the wrist
or kept in a box, ticking with impatience.

Yesterday I sat down with a friend and colleague as he showed me a huge web project he has almost finished. Colleague Friend is not a computer expert and he taught himself Dreamweaver to do this. This man accomplishes more on his lunch hour than I do in a week.

How is this????

We both get 24 hours per day.

My current dilemma? It’s 6:00 a.m. I must be “up” by 7:30. I woke up, however, at 3:30 and have been trying to exhaust myself back to sleep ever since. Later I will drag myself through the day only to not be able to sleep tonight. I fully expect that before the day is over, Abe Lincoln and a beaver will give me a pep talk as a silent astronaut observes.

Of course, I’m not really sure I’ve been awake since 3:30.

When we rolled into this experimental Daylight Saving Time, my home computer and cell phone automatically adjusted for the change.

I changed the time on my stove, but I changed it wrong. It’s – somehow – 15 minutes early. To get to the real time, I’ll have to take the time to scroll forward 11 hours and 45 minutes. This is a bad system.

I changed the time in my car.

I changed the time on my alarm clock and bedroom VCR. I can’t change the time on my living room VCR because I lost my remote somewhere in my house and I’m waiting for the new used one that I ordered from eBay.

I don’t care whether my living room TV and stereo know what time it is.

I haven’t changed either of my hanging-on-the-wall clocks yet.

My work office phone adjusted for the change; my work computer didn’t.

I feel like I'm ticking with impatience.
And the boxes are as confused as I am.