Bob

Batz

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October 1, 2007

Read This Column, But Only If the Time is Right

I was leafing through an edition of The New York Times recently when I came across a jewelry store advertisement hyping a sale on a certain kind of up-scale wristwatch.

The watch, which was self-winding and done up in 18-karat gold, had previously retailed for $16,500, but now, for a limited time only, was available for only $10,900.

That scared me because my wife Sally and I bought our first house in the early 1960s for $5,500.

Furthermore, when we purchased that house I was making only $7,200 a year as a newspaper reporter and we were driving a used – I mean “pre-owned” car – that cost $750.

The other thing that bothered me about that newspaper advertisement is that I have never been big on clocks or watches. Oh, sure, I wear a wristwatch, but I certainly don’t live my life according to the sweep of its second and minute hands.

Most people believe the purpose of all clocks is to keep track of time. But, actually, they have become much more than that in this hurry-up world in which we live these days.

For many people, clocks are time and to prove it, there are plenty of people in the world who can’t seem to do anything without first checking to see what time it is.

Clocks tell said people when to go to sleep, when to get up, when to work, when to play and maybe even when to laugh and when to cry.

At age 67, I don’t spend much time keeping track of time. Consequently, I’m always arriving somewhere late. Or early.

I’ve eaten lunch at three in the afternoon lots of times. I’ve also done dinner as late as midnight. I’ve arrived at work tardy a few times and ended up getting a ton of work done.

On the other hand, I’ve known plenty of men and women who routinely show up at their places of employment an hour early and don’t accomplish one damned thing all day long.

In America, the obsession with time keeps some folks going at dizzying paces. Clocks haunt some people all of the days of their lives.

The instant we are born, a doctor, or nurse, glances at the clock on the wall and dutifully notes the time of delivery.

The moment we die, somebody checks a clock or wristwatch, and records the time we departed.

But, really, what difference does it make that John Doe was born at 8:18 am, or that he died at 3:02 pm?

Life and lots of other things are much too precious to reduce to seconds, minutes and hours. 

© 2007 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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