By Joe Shouse

This past weekend I lost something very valuable to me. I guess you could say I lost it, but actually it was snatched away in the middle of the night and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. What I lost was something we all lost; it was one hour. That magical time in the early spring when on a very early Sunday morning at 2 a.m., like a hidden thief, the clock springs forward one hour and it becomes 3 a.m.

I know it’s just an hour and I know we get it back in the fall, but there is something about losing it that I don’t like. Maybe it’s the idea of getting less sleep on that particular Saturday night. I’ve tried going to bed an hour earlier to help make up for the hour I will have taken from me, but it doesn’t seem to work. Or maybe it’s the idea of getting used to the morning when the sun rises earlier or is it later?

And, in the evening when the sun sets later, or is it earlier? You see, it’s confusing. Why do I have to wait for seven months to get my hour back?