Calendar inconsistency
July 26, 2019
by Ivan Raconteur

I’m prepared to concede that there are 365 days in a year. If you prefer, we could say 52 weeks, or 12 months.

However, I am absolutely convinced that they don’t pass at the same rate.

For example, not that long ago, I was busy finalizing plans for my vacation.

Suddenly, it was as if I was launched from a giant catapult (slingshot). In the blink of an eye, I was hurled from July 1 to the beginning of August. The days sped past in a blur. I have some memories of having fun along the way, but it seems we reached the end of July almost before it began.

Experience suggests that August and September will pass at a pretty snappy rate as well.

In general, for me at least, the summer months disappear more quickly than winter months.

It would be wonderful if July would drag on as long as January or February.

It doesn’t seem right, somehow, that February is technically the shortest month, but it takes so long to get through it.

Imagine the bliss if July would linger that long? Think of all the fun we could have.

I used to enjoy springtime, when nature shakes off the shackles of winter and April showers wash the landscape and make way for fragrant May flowers.

It seems we don’t have spring anymore. We go right from blizzards to tropical heat with no time to adjust.

Before we know where we are, the accelerated summer schedule has begun.

I am hoping to get some more vacation time in before snow flies, but at the pace things are moving now, I will have to schedule it soon or I’ll miss the window of opportunity.

At work, it seems like we just finished covering local graduation ceremonies, and I’m already having to consider sending new teacher profile forms to the schools in preparation for the new school year.

In the winter, time never passes quickly. It seems like months go by before I have to turn the page on my calendar. The days drag by at the speed of glaciers.

Perhaps this is just another reminder that we need to make the most of every day, and savor the glorious days of summer while they last. Something tells me they’re going to disappear faster than a box of cookies at a Grateful Dead concert.

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