One of those ancient Greek philosophers once said “Time is the most valuable thing a man can spendʺ (Theophrastus) but around my house no one knows what time it is so we have no way of knowing how much or how little we’ve spent. This is because most of the clocks either don’t keep the correct time or have been dead longer than Theophrastus himself. And while I've never been a stickler for being on time (it’s usually only a problem when someone else is late) having ten different clocks telling ten different times is confusing. Take the one in the bedroom for instance. He sits on the TV and runs a consistent five minutes late. The one in the bathroom is five minutes fast, (I set that one to get people out of there so I can get in) so I suppose if you average the two you have a good idea of the exact time. I had a wristwatch but left it in a locker room somewhere and that’s like giving it to a charity. You can get the time off the TV but you’d better be watching at a certain time and we do have an alarm clock by the bed but don’t care to look at it because it represents getting up time and that’s something we’d rather not do. The clock above the big screen TV is late four minutes so I’m usually not on time for Charlie Sheen’s antics and I heard he might be doing time anyway so it may be a minute point.

Wonder what timely thoughts Theo would have about him? The clocks that no longer care to give you the time simply stare back as if to say, “I know I’m supposed to be doing something but forgot what it was because you either didn’t wind me up or insisted on using rechargeable batteries which run down faster than the falls at Niagara. The Grandfather clock (which cost $300.00 thirty years ago) is one of those. He hasn’t chimed a note since gas was under a dollar fifty and the last clock “expert” we had showed up late and recommended leveling the house to allow for “dangling of the old pendulum”. People that live here spend a good deal of time asking each other “what time is it” hoping someone has seen the weather channel recently or has a cell phone handy.

There are those among us, gifted people actually, who really don’t care if they’re late or not as long as the sun comes up each morning and the car starts. I call these people “gifted” because they have managed to relieve themselves of the headache common to the type A personality, that of worrying about being on time. You can find them coming to a pew near you. Ever been to church and had to stand up while someone who was late shuffles down your pew? Just when the warmth of the cherry wood begins to creep into your soul and you get that relaxed, here comes the sermon sure to send me into a mid-morning snooze mode with visions of roast beef and mashed potatoes, some “scuse me, I couldn’t make it to the church on time” fellow parishioner, comes sidestepping his way down the pew. Now you’ve got to stand up, get the stare treatment from the brothers and sisters and lose that roast beef vision as your pants which have found their way into the recesses of your behind, give you an additional “wake up call”.

Whenever I’m late I can usually find one of three things waiting ahead … A senior citizen in a Cadillac, a red light or a school bus. It’s then I try to convince myself, I’m not spending time, I’m making memories, as I chew the leather off the covered steering wheel.