Tick Tock. Time flies and I get cuckoo.
In a world where there never seems to be enough time, we lost an hour “springing ahead” over the weekend. Who can afford to lose an hour? We need more hours, not fewer! Or so we think. What woman hasn’t wished for more hours in the day? Even if nothing more is accomplished, it would be nice to have those extra hours for sleep. It seems counterintuitive, but when I start wishing for more time, it’s usually a sign that I need to slow down rather than speed up. Saturday, my Beloved and I spent a chunk of time car shopping for safe, reliable transportation for the Teenager. At the risk of generalizing, or sounding like one of those people who lump folks into stereotypical categories, I will say that in my experience men don’t mind giving up a weekend to look at cars. Discussing features, kicking tires, test driving—it’s in my Beloved’s DNA. It was in my dad’s. It’s in my brother’s and my son’s. Not in mine. I can give it about an hour before I start to get antsy. I stray from the prac...