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Time change divides homeland group

By Staff | Nov 12, 2010

“I thought we just voted against big government,” Holger Danske proclaimed heatedly as he walked into the cold community hall where the town’s 12 other electors huddled for the November meeting of the Homeland Security Committee.

“Besides, this business of the government moving time around is not Biblical,” Holger continued. “When the Lord said noon will be at 12 o’clock, He didn’t mean one o’clock or 11 o’clock. Nowhere in the Bible do we get authority to move the time. People who can’t accept what God organized should just go someplace else.”

“I agree, but mostly for Dog,” Old Sievert announced. “Poor Dog doesn’t know when to eat when he gets up on old time and I get up on new time.”

“Well, there’s something fishy about this whole time thing,” Einar Torvald speculated. “Think of this. The sun gets back in June, that’s three months after moving the clock forward. Then we change it back four months after June. Now why don’t we have equal time on each side of the sun’s zenith? When things don’t add up, somebody’s making money on the deal.”

“Who would that be?” asked Old Sievert as he looked around for a place to spit his Peerless chew. “Would it be the flashlight people? The clock people? Maybe it’s the liquor people.” He swallowed.

“Well, polls show that people think that changing time is okay,” offered Little Jimmy, the town’s 17-year-old who was working on a doctorate in theology online with Salvation University in Del Rio, Texas. This was his seventh major since his folks left him in charge of himself while they went scouting for gold in the Yukon.

“We used to get a little help from farmers,” Holger reported. “They were dead set against time change they worried about when the cows would milk, or their fields being scorched with extra sunlight, or the chickens going to bed late, all kinds of things.”

“Arizona doesn’t do the time change so it’s obvious that farmers are flocking to Phoenix to escape the stress of the time change,” Little Jimmy threw in for good measure. “They go before falling back and come back after springing forward. Maybe one of them would take Dog.”

“Well, if Arizona doesn’t have to do the time change, we don’t either, so I move that we put our town on Arizona time no more changing clocks,” Einar proposed.

“That’s a little extreme,” Madeleine Morgan sputtered.

“Maybe we should change half an hour in October and another half in November so Dog can adjust,” Orville Jordan proposed. “That would make more sense anyway because the sun doesn’t change in one hour periods. It’s gradual.”

“That would not work,” protested Josh Dvorchek. “Then we would get only half of Judge Judy and I’m learning a lot of good legal stuff from her.”

Old Sievert impatiently put on his wool-lined bombardier helmet and mostly blue windbreaker. “You guys can do what you want. From now on, Dog and I are going to set our own time so call before you come if you expect coffee.”

“Okay! The elder has spoken. In December, we will meet at half past something,” Chairman Ork Dorken declared as he adjourned the meeting.

Omdahl is a UND professor emeritus in political science and a former lieutenant governor of North Dakota.