Changes

Time to change the clocks again.

Set them back one hour.

Drat!

My mind knows the time changed last night; my body doesn’t. So this morning I woke at 1:30 instead of my usual 2:30. Joy, O Joy.

I’ve spent much of my life preparing for changes that never happened. Before Tropical Storm Fay, I put away or fastened down everything loose in the yard—lawn chairs, flower pots, tools, statues—but Fay came in as a tropical storm instead of as the predicted hurricane.

I need not have taken such through precautions.

I still have not got everything put back where it belongs.

Then last week, anticipating a visit from our Mark & Debbie and two new adopted kids to our home, I began to child-proof the place. Did you know that as a pipe smoker I have eight boxes of strike-anywhere matches scattered all over the house in easy reach of any chair I happen to sit in? And there are sharp things and breakables and prescription bottles all over the house—it’s been years since we’ve had small children in the house, so we just didn’t think of child-proofing until anticipating their visit.

But the kids never actually made it into our house; we met at Eve’s and all went to the park instead. I could have left my matches where they were.

Every year Ginny and I prepare for an elaborate Halloween so we can give our tracts to the people who come to our door. We set up a display and pack generous goodie bags for kids (see October 30, 2005 or 2006 or 2007 in my Blog archives for photos)

Last week we added even more candy than usual to the goodie-bags and Friday night we canceled our date and skipped Eve’s party so we could sit at a table in our driveway to dispense candy and tracts and toys and comics to the kids… and only eight kids showed up the whole evening.

Some years we’ve had as many as 60 trick-or-treaters, but this Halloween, only eight.

We made all these preparations for nothing.

I spend much of my life preparing for things that never happen.

Earlier this year (on October 16) I wrote mentioning the suicide of the manager of Georgie’s BBQ—well, yesterday after shopping for a new vacation wardrobe at a local thrift store, Ginny and I drove to Georgie’s for lunch only to find the restaurant closed.

We’ve been going there regularly for 15 years.

But now, with the manager’s suicide, the owner decided to shut down the place entirely.

As best we can figure, ten or twelve employees worked each of two (maybe three) shifts at the restaurant. At least 24 people lost their livelihoods instantly and unexpectedly because of the manager’s suicide.

Then also, Gin and I are not the only old people who depended on the decrepit discount for a cheap, pleasant lunch or dinner out. Customers always packed the restaurant. Whole shifts of police officers, dozens of seniors, church groups and many families ate there often.

The poor manager attempted to end his own pain by ending his life. Maybe he did not realize the ripple effects his death would generate. Maybe he thought his life didn’t matter. Maybe he felt useless. Maybe he felt he was alone in facing his difficulties.

Poor bastard.

He wasn’t.