Fast Time and Fast Food

By Lynn Rebuck –

I have long admired the Amish. Recently, I learned yet one more reason to respect them: some pay no mind to daylight savings time.

A friend who used to drive for the Amish (a car, not a team of mules) told me that when arranging pickup times, the Amish would inquire whether the pickup time she stated was “fast time” or “slow time.”

Fast time is how the Amish refer to our odd practice of changing the time arbitrarily based on the calendar and someone’s bright (no pun intended) idea.

Clearly, Fast Times at Amish High has a whole different meaning than at Ridgemont High.

It seems that the cows belonging to the Amish pay no regard to the man-made ritual of time change and prefer to give their milk as previously scheduled.

This year I was reminded that the great state of Arizona also shows udder disregard (okay, pun intended that time) for the switch to daylight savings.

So why is Arizona so rebellious? Do they just like to make it difficult for airline travelers who panic about making it to their Phoenix connecting flights in time?

To complicate things even further, the Navajo Nation, which is located within the boundaries of Arizona, follows daylight saving. However, the Hopi Nation, which is surrounded by the Navajo Nation, does not.

So, if you are hoping to pick up a Hopi friend in Arizona soon after the switch to daylight savings, you’d better take extra care in coordinating schedules. It is possible that preceding predicament may wind up as a word question in a math textbook.

Hawaii doesn’t change the clock either. They are still “hanging ten” while the rest of us are hanging eleven or twelve.

So what gives these states the freedom to regulate their own time? Well, states have the right to opt out of daylight savings under the federal Uniform Time Act of 1966. They need only pass a state law to do so, as Arizona and Hawaii have done.

In 1987, an extension to daylight savings time was enacted as part of another federal bill. What was the driving force behind that change?

French fries.

Yes, you read that right.  French fries.

What’s the connection? To find out, email me at Lynn@LynnRebuck.com.

Well, it’s time for me to go change the clocks. I think I’ll set them back another hour instead of springing forward. I could use the extra sleep.

Lynn Rebuck is an award-winning Christian humor columnist, speaker, and comedian.  She was once asked to be the keynote speaker at a silent retreat. Her column/blog appears weekly in print, online, and on Amazon Kindle.  For more of her humor, visit www.LynnRebuck.com, email her at Lynn@LynnRebuck.com, fan her on Facebook, and follow her on Twitter. © 2011 Lynn Rebuck

Jingle Bills

By Lynn Rebuck –

On the verge of a holiday spending spree and under the deadline pressure of unfinished Christmas shopping (okay, unstarted Christmas shopping is a more honest description), I write my annual Christmas column.

Please know that I will be at the mall Christmas Eve until it closes, surrounded by men who are shopping for their wives.  As the only woman shopper in the store, I will be asked numerous times for advice by these men.

My hope is that men will read this column before they go shopping, saving me time and saving them embarrassment on Christmas morning.  So here’s my advice for last-minute male shoppers:

No matter how supportive your wife is of your fishing or hunting hobby, she does not want an electronic fish that sings or a moose that dances.  No amount of justification will overcome the resentment of your purchasing season tickets to your favorite team “for her.”

Blenders are not sexy. Unless she has specifically, and in writing, directed you to purchase an appliance for her, stay out of the kitchen department.  Jewelry is a wonderful gift, but selecting it can be sometimes confusing.  There are numerous metals and stones to choose from, as well as different settings, cuts, and clasps. When in doubt, buy her the more expensive piece (ladies you can thank me later).

Do not buy her pierced earrings unless her ears are pierced.  If you have been married longer than two minutes, you should know this about her.  The item you selected is indicative of how much you know and care about her.

If you don’t know what size clothing your wife wears, don’t guess. Buy her jewelry instead.  No matter how tempting the sale may seem, do not buy a woman shoes.  Women seldom like practical gifts.  Do not, under any circumstances, buy a storm door for her, no matter how long she’s been mentioning it.

Fancy wrapping cannot cover an insincere gift (I think I read that in a fortune cookie once).  If the ink is still wet when she reads your Christmas card, you will be penalized.

Remember, before wrapping a gift remove the price tag.  A woman will not be impressed when handed an item that has been marked down several times over.  Don’t tell her how much money you saved on her present.  Tell your buddies and tell your Facebook friends, but don’t tell her.

Lynn Rebuck is an award-winning Christian humor columnist, speaker, and comedian. Check out her humor video “Two Nights Before Christmas” on her website, www.LynnRebuck.com. It’s a modern telling of the classic poem, told from a woman’s point of view.  Lynn would love to hear from you, so please leave a comment or you can email her at LynnRebuck@gmail.com. © 2010 Lynn Rebuck

Times Are, Uh, Changing

By Lynn Rebuck –

I was on time for church Sunday. It was purely coincidental. It is that rare annual event that happens only on the unique fall morning that we are to set our clocks back one hour to end Daylight Savings Time.

I under-slept Sunday morning and ended up arriving fifteen minutes early for church. At first I was startled by the number of cars pulling into the parking lot. Next I was overwhelmed by the selection of parking spaces available. When I walked into the near-deserted building, I was fascinated by the rows of empty seats.

Mind you, I would adjust my watch to the correct time if I could, but it seems the people who wrote the miniaturized instruction leaflet are the same ones who inscribed the entire Bible on the head of a pin.

Here we are days past the shift in the time-space continuum, and not all of my clocks are adjusted. My kitchen stove claims one time, my car professes another, and my DVD player still innocently blinks midnight.

I am convinced that the old song by the band Chicago, “Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?” (which you will likely hum for the rest of the day now that I’ve mentioned it), was written just after the switch from Daylight Savings Time.

Yesterday I went watch shopping. The clerk approached me as I gazed at the timepieces in the case. “Can I help you find something?” she asked helpfully.

“Yes, I’d like to get a new watch,” I said.

“What features are you looking for?”

“It has to be accurate,” I replied.

“All of our watches keep time very well,” she said proudly. “Perhaps I can interest you in this one that is waterproof to a depth of ten meters.”

“Do I look like I dive for abalone? I only need one that’s waterproof to the depth of my washing machine,” I replied. My eyes kept searching the hopeful faces in the case.

Finally, I spotted it. “I’ll take that one there,” I said, pointing to a purple-faced watch that had a band larger than a collar for a St. Bernard.

“Which one, this one?” she asked, and then proceeded to tease me by touching every watch surrounding the watch I had selected. (I have found this to be a favorite game of jewelry store salespeople.)

She accidentally brushed the box of my chosen timepiece and I excitedly yelled, “That’s the one!”

“My,” she said, “you really seem to like this watch. It is an excellent choice, as it has a dual alarm, international time zones, a backlight, chronograph, split-lap stopwatch, is waterproof to 50 meters, and can even withstand severe shocks.”

“Severe shocks like being driven by your teenager? Great, I’ll take it.”

“Why did you choose this one?” she asked.

“It has the correct time on it.”

She rang up the sale and I snatched the bag from her hand. As I headed for the door I called back over my shoulder, “See you in the spring!”

Lynn Rebuck is an award-winning humor columnist, comedian, and speaker. She once tried to adjust a sun dial for Daylight Savings Time. Read her humor blog on www.LynnRebuck.com, fan her on Facebook, follow her on Twitter, and email her at LynnRebuck@gmail.com no matter what time it is. © 2010 Lynn Rebuck

Welcome Back to School, Please Sign Here

By Lynn Rebuck –

As a mom, I always dread the ton of homework that I get assigned on the first day of school.  There is always a sizeable stack of forms for me to review, complete and sign.

There used to be fewer, less complicated forms when kids started back to school. Now I need a paralegal to help me fill them all out.

First I encounter numerous classroom contracts which my son and I need to sign in triplicate.  Some need to be notarized.

We must stipulate to standards for classroom behavior, attendance and homework completion. I am sending my son to school this year with counter-offers.

Next I must complete the registration card requiring emergency contact information.

Designating someone to pick up your child when he or she becomes feverishly ill is always a tricky decision. It’s tough to get someone to commit for a second year of service once they’ve had to clean your child’s morning meal out of their minivan.

There is also the fairness and reciprocity rule to consider. If the individual you previously listed had to pick up your child multiple times, while her remarkably healthy children didn’t need you to come to the rescue the entire school year (they didn’t even have cavities), it would be inappropriate to ask her to commit to another year on-call.

Next in the stack is a media consent form that asks whether I authorize my son’s image to be photographed, his name to be published on the Internet or in the news media and for him to be interviewed by Anderson Cooper. Hmmm, I’m going to have to consult my son’s talent agent and publicist before I respond to that one.

By the time I get to the “radiological emergency” card I am overwhelmed with anxiety and ready to home school. Since we live within a 10-mile radius of a nuclear power plant, I must decide whether to authorize school personnel to give him an emergency dose of potassium iodide in the event of a nuclear emergency.

A more ominous card has evolved from the emergency contact card: the “catastrophic emergency” form. In the event of a total meltdown, no wait, that would fall under the nuclear emergency card…umm, in the event of a complete catastrophe, who do I want to pick up my child?  My first choice would be the First Lady. Michelle Obama can pick him up with Air Force One. I hope she doesn’t mind. I’d be happy to reciprocate.

By the time I finished all of the forms I was suffering from severe writer’s cramp, had multiple paper cuts and my signature had degraded into a series of illegible curves and squiggles.

But if a school district photographer ever snaps a photo of my son as Michelle Obama rushes him onto Air Force One following a catastrophic “nuclear” chain reaction right after school personnel administer iodide to him in the wake of an incident at Three Mile Island, district officials need not worry—I signed the forms.

Lynn Rebuck is an award-winning Christian humor columnist, speaker and mother whose humor column appears weekly in print and online. She is currently looking for loopholes in the library book return policy. Read Lynn’s humor blog on her website, www.LynnRebuck.com, sign up for her newsletter, follow her on Twitter and become a fan on Facebook. That’s your homework. © 2010 Lynn Rebuck

Power Cord Outage

By Lynn Rebuck –

After years of my own diligent research and experimentation, I have discovered that electronic appliances work better if you plug them in first.  I do not regret the time I have spent in this academic pursuit, watching toasters that don’t toast, observing coffee makers that refuse to make coffee, and studying printers that fail to print. Read more

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