Time is an Enigma by Katherine Pym

Wondering what the date is

We’ve just passed into a new year. By the Gregorian calendar, it is January 4, 2015. We are firm in this belief, and are happy with the algorithms that caused this. We trust the calendar. It is one of our rocks that anchor us to this world. 

But what if it weren’t always like this? How would people handle a moving, mushy calendar? I’d be nervous, and always wonder what the day was. I’d be afraid to travel, thinking wherever I went, the date wouldn’t match the place I left.

This was the case in England prior to 1752. Back then, they followed the Julian calendar when almost everyone else followed the Gregorian calendar. This differential caused problems within the government, amongst the merchants, or anyone who communicated with those abroad.

EXAMPLE: If you woke up in England January 1^st 1700, according to the Julian calendar, the date would really be December 21^st, 1699, since the Julian was a slug-a-bug, and trailed the Gregorian by approximately 11 days (all depends on who is counting). The dates would follow this lead until March 25, which was the New Year in the Julian calendar.

What if your country was at war with England and a treaty ensued? Would you lay down your arms on January 1^st or December 21^st? That’s rather a large gap of days. I can imagine war weary soldiers staring across the fox hole at each other, wondering what to do.   

Confused? Oh my, I do see exasperation in your eyes.

ANOTHER EXAMPLE: If you were born to English parents in France (Gregorian) on July 8, 1660, but returning to England, your birth date would actually be June 28 or 29, 1660 (Julian), again, depending on who is counting. 

If I were that child, I'd wander through life in a daze.

In September 1752, England finally succumbed to adopt the Gregorian calendar, but people fussed because they would lose days. How many, even the experts aren't certain. It ranges from 10-12 days.

One source I found gives the count of eleven days (or is it twelve?). The other day, I ran across a little booklet titled: Murders Myths and Monuments of North Staffordshire, by W.M. Jamieson. This booklet is a compilation of stories based in this lovely English shire. He entitled a short piece: 'Give us back our eleven days'.

This is what a good Staffordshire fellow did about the switch from Julian to Gregorian:

"William Willett was born in the early seventeen hundreds and lived in Endon where, according to local mythology he was something of a character... always fond of a gag or wager.  

"During the year 1752, ...the Government ordered that the days September 3rd to September 13th would not exist and people going to bed on the evening of the 2nd would wake up on the morning of the 14th.    

"...this appeared to be a government trick to rob the people of eleven days of their life and there were demonstrations outside Parliament demanding that the people were given back their eleven days.

"William Willet of Endon saw the possibility of a great joke and a profitable one, and also a chance to leave his indelible mark on Endon's history. He wagered that he would dance nonstop for twelve days and twelve nights and eagerly took bets from many of the villagers. 

"On the evening of September 2nd, 1752, William Willett started to jig around the village of Endon. Next morning, September 14th, he stopped dancing and started to claim his bets."

Good William Willet was pretty clever. Hopefully, the fair people of the village didn’t think too badly of his trick, and he made lots of money.

BUT I'm still confused on the missing days. Based on this story, England lost eleven days, when it seems to everyone, including W.M. Jamieson that William Willet danced for twelve days. 

Hmm, perhaps, this is a riddle better left unresolved.

 

http://bookswelove.net/pym.php

New Year, New Beginnings by Diane Bator

I am one of those busy people who manages 3 teenagers (one at University), 2 part-time jobs, a fledgling writing career and a new editing business as well as a husband. Yes, I am my own special kind of crazy and can cause myself all sorts of stress. I also make sure to create all kinds of joy in my life to keep some semblance of balance.

During a really busy, extremely stressful, time in my life recently, I took the time to make a list of the things that relaxed me and gave me joy. This list is in no particular order, but simply as they popped into my head.

1.       Baking Cookies

~ I don't do this enough because of the inevitable side effect - I eat them!

2.       Laughing

~ the light-hearted, silly moments are the ones that inspire me the most and open the creative portal.

3.       Snuggling with my cat

~ our furry baby was a rescue animal 9 years ago as a newborn kitten. He's funny, chatty, and always seems to know when anyone needs a hug.

4.       My kids

~ good, bad, or ugly, the kids are always entertaining to some degree and a constant source of laughter, hugs and inspiration in my life.

5.       My friends

~ coffee dates and lunches aren't as common as they used to be so I savor every one. My friends all know I write (as to many of them!), they all know I use the best lines they toss out at me, and they all know I treasure every one of them!

6.       Yoga

~ I love yoga to restore my body and spirit - my mind I'm still working on. Mind tends to be a wild horse that does NOT want to be reined in and constantly needs the gentle reminder to be still. I seek the calming effect, which helps me focus on my writing later.

7.       Christmas Movies

~ Okay, I admit it. I'm a Christmas movie junkie, especially those made-for-TV movies. Have you ever noticed about 95% of them feature writers?

8.       Walking

~ A great moving meditation, I love as how my feet move, my brain sweeps out the bad thoughts and lets my creativity flow - just when I have no pen or paper within reach!

9.       Martial Arts

~ my hubby and kids did karate for 6 years before I started nearly 3 years ago. Another form of moving meditation, students are trained to empty their minds, yet be aware of everything around them.

10.   Writing

~ My Happy Place! When the rest of the world is getting me down, or life gets out of control, I find escaping to write is one of the best ways to regain my joy, calm my spirit, and find my focus.

As the New Year begins and the glitter and busy-ness of the Holiday Season fades, we all need to find take a deep breath and return to being the creative souls we are. This year, make Joy your constant companion. Find the awe and wonder in the little things and make your own list of the things that make you happy for those days you'd rather tear the world - imaginary or otherwise - apart.

My wish for all of you in 2015 is to learn how to stop once and a while and just breathe.

Happy New Year!

Diane Bator

Author of the Wild Blue Mysteries Series

~ The Bookstore Lady

~ The Mystery Lady

~ The Bakery Lady

....more coming soon!

WOMEN DRIVERS - SAINTS OR SINNERS - MARGARET TANNER

ROAD RAGE VICTIM

Recently, I witnessed a car accident.  A truck ran up the back of a woman’s car outside a local shopping mall. The man jumped out of his truck and abused the woman. Luckily no-one was hurt, but this incident brought to the surface something that happened to me more than twenty years ago.

I was involved in a serious accident when a fully laden semi trailer ran into the back of my car, virtually demolishing it. How I survived was a miracle, how I was able to walk away with just a few bruises was even more miraculous. Even the emergency workers who arrived on the scene couldn’t believe it. My car was crushed, the semi-trailer jack-knifed and ended upside down, and the driver had to climb out the window, but all I could blubber about was losing my shoes.  They weren’t even designer ones, just the low-heeled type I always wore to work. “Stupid woman,” I heard a by-stander remark. “Worrying about her bloody shoes.”

***

Everyone knows me – the lady who sits on or just below the speed limit. The one who gets tail-gated and abused by impatient road users who ignore speed signs.

 
I always leave a reasonable distance between my car and the one in front of me, only to be out-maneuvered by someone else squeezing into the gap. When the skies open up and the rain buckets down, giving the road surface the texture of an ice-skating rink, I reduce speed, while others roar past leaving fountains of water in their wake.
 
There are those who abuse me for stopping a few feet from a railway crossing when in a long line of traffic, instead of waiting in the middle of the tracks.  Everyone knows the cars in front will move before the train comes. Perish the thought that when the lights do change, someone might stall and hold up the flow, so I’m left like a sitting duck at the mercy of the boom gates crashing on to my roof, or the 5.08 express train, running me into the ground. Selfish woman driver that I am – don’t I realize everyone else is in a hurry.
           
Why do I get upset when some maniac passes me on the wrong side of the road? After all I can easily slam on my brakes, and let them in front of me when the third lane they have created peters out.  Tough luck if the truck almost sitting an inch away from my bumper bar can’t stop, but a few precious seconds gained, a few extra vehicles passed, means a lot when a driver is in a hurry. Don’t I realize how busy everyone is?
 
The lights are green in the distance; they change to amber when I am meters away.  How can a woman be so stupid? All I have to do is accelerate, as long as my front wheels are at the intersection when the lights turn red, it’ll be o.k.  The tooting driver behind me is obviously running late, and there are no police cars around.
           
One might be moved to ask what all the fuss is about. Everyone knows you have to take risks on the road, show the machine you’re driving who the boss is, intimidate other road users so they know how tough you are.  After all, you’ll never have an accident because you’re such an expert driver.
           
A metamorphosis seems to come over many people when they climb behind the wheel. Their well-mannered, easygoing ways evaporate.  They become ruthless predators, waiting to pounce on some unsuspecting victim, whose only crime is that they try to obey all the road laws.
 
***
Margaret Tanner is a multi-published Australian author