Telling Where We Are By What Time It Is

For want of an accurate response to a question--"Where are we?"--nearly 2,000 British sailors perished. Without a way to measure their east-west position (longitude), the fleet ran aground on the Scilly Isles in stormy seas on October 22, 1707. The issue would eventually be resolved in answering a different question: "What time is it?"

In response to the tragedy, Parliament established in 1714 a prize of 20,000 pounds (about 12 million dollars) for the person who could devise a method of accurately determining longitude. On June 21, 1773, the prize eventually went to John Harrison, a clockmaker whose four decades of labor had produced a timepiece precise enough for the task. For by reading the time of day using Harrison's "sea clock," sailors could finally compute longitudinal position.

That same question--"Where am I?"--becomes increasingly important as I grow older, for the time to get to wherever it is I'm going is rapidly diminishing. But the answer lies in that other question, "What time is it?"

Every day at 4:58 p.m. the alarm on my wristwatch activates. My reasons for initiating this peculiar ritual proved a matter of practicality. When I was employed full time, I simply needed a reminder to begin making backup copies of critical computer files and shutting down my computer in time to catch my ride home.

Hence the alarm. Though retired for 14 months now, the alarm still rings, reminding me to be thankful that I don't have to catch a ride.

On the other hand, another alarm--the one on the clock beside my bed--remains shut off almost all the time. Accustomed to rising around 5:00 a.m. for years, my internal clock still activates rather early. But silencing the alarm semi-permanently has been a safety valve, remaining in the background until called upon. I don't have to rise so early if I don't want to.

Even clocks are no strangers to miscues. The clock on the wall faithfully--and always mistakenly--chimes five minutes before each hour. It also chimes twice at 5:00 a.m. and thrice at 6:00 a.m. Once injecting confusion in days ruled a more strict observance of hours and minutes, these peculiarities no longer trouble.

Rather than to hours, my rhythm is now more synchronized to days. For example, I set aside Monday for the first few drafts of this newspaper column. Tuesday and Thursday are for teaching a writing class. Fitness center on weekdays. Garage sales on Saturday. Sunday church. Wednesday morning, finish Bible study lesson for Wednesday night church.

In the oldest psalm, time and eternity both converge with Moses' words: "So teach us to number our days, that we may present to You a heart of wisdom." If the path to wisdom is our journey, our position can be derived in part by discerning the answer John Harrison's nagging question: "What time is it?"

Copyright 2003 James McAlister

Printer friendly version

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Parallel Tracks Of Good And Bad

The late Ron Dunn, a preacher whom I highly esteem, coined a truism I frequently lean upon: Good and bad run along parallel tracks and often arrive about the same time. Though some had warned us, nothing could have prepared us for our first visit to the M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. From children to the aged, the outward devastation of pernicious disease on frail human bodies overloaded our senses. They are courageous souls in hand-to-hand combat with a vicious enemy of seemingly inexhaustible tenacity. But they press on. To cover the almost-inevitable baldness that cancer treatment wreaks, many select colorful head scarves or stylish wigs as banners for their individual battles. Calling cancer a bad thing is a gross and trivial understatement. But even amid their roiling seas of trouble, good persists in bobbing to the surface as cancer patients openly discuss both defeats and victories. Without a hint of bitterness, Mr. Boudreaux relates the loss of a leg and other traumati...
Read more

Learning With Ollie In The School Of Basics

Oliver Wickerham Gatchell wouldn't have stood for it. Nope. He was just too practical. As I saw him do many times, he would have risen up and demanded an accounting. I first encountered him in 1963. I was a college freshman, and he was a crusty, white-headed old engineer teaching the most basic entry-level course. Whispers from the older students warned us: Ollie Gatchell would strike fear in our hearts. And so he did, making that initial engineering course a baptism by fire. On the first day of class, he didn't bother introducing himself. Instead, he instantly solidified his reputation with a challenge: "OK, you prospective engineers. Let's see who can figure out how to get the lead into his pencil." Nobody could. Those mechanical pencils were easily fumbled, but we did learn how to use them--thanks to the demanding Ollie Gatchell. Knowing the necessity of discipline and order in engineering work, he despised inefficiency and imprecision. One class period found u...
Read more