Betty Heath: Me, Charlie, and time - Longmont Times-Call

His name is Charlie. I’m just guessing it’s Charlie and not Charlene. What gender “it” is really doesn’t matter. Charlie and I have breakfast together quite often. I hope he remembered to “fall back” last week and that breakfast comes an hour earlier today. I would hate for him to miss out on his favorite buffet of apples and peanut butter; apples and pumpkin butter; or just plain fresh cut pumpkin with seeds. You see, Charlie is a squirrel.

Some of my neighbors are non-believers. They tell me what I already know; that I shouldn’t be feeding a wild animal. But Charlie’s different. I don’t think he really cares about Daylight Savings Time; he just likes the buffet I prepare for him.

I probably get this trait from my dad. The house he and mom lived in had a creek running behind it and the backyard was full of huge oak trees. Dozens of bird and squirrel nests were housed in those trees. My dad had a coffee can with rocks in it. (Yes, coffee used to be sold in tin cans, and after they were emptied they usually ended up in my Dad’s workshop filled with all sorts of nuts and bolts and junk.) Dad would open the back door and place food out for the squirrels, shake the can of rocks and quickly close the door because those squirrels would come flying. Literally. There were flying squirrels that flew from tree to tree. He loved watching those squirrels and their antics.

My next door neighbor thinks I have rocks in my head for feeding Charlie. On one of our beautiful warm mornings last week I opened the French doors from the dining area to the deck. I was walking through the living room when I saw something heading toward the door. I shouted, “No, you can’t come in here!” It was Charlie. He just wanted to inspect the kitchen to make sure I hadn’t left something on the counter for him. Poor Charlie! He fled as fast as his little feet could scoot. But he kept his eyes on me from the nearby tree.

Earlier this year The Mr. saw me sewing a quilt and asked if it was for Charlie. I hadn’t thought about making one for him, but maybe I should consider it. He has a nest in the middle of one of our big Mountain Ash trees. I can just picture him up there with his bushy tail wrapped around him snuggled up under a small quilt, dreaming of a white Christmas.

Well, this morning I had to struggle to get out of my warm cocoon although I had an extra hour. I remembered to set my clock back an hour last week, but I forgot to set my body clock back an hour. I really don’t like changing time. We gain an hour then we have to pay it back in the spring. Borrowed time is wasted time if you ask me. I do need every hour I can get to finish whatever it is I begin on any given day. Of course, I understand that I waste a fair amount of time each day. That’s just because I spend extra minutes trying to find whatever it is I’m working on. Interruptions just set me back at least an hour. Then, I just never seem to get caught up. I have never figured out how any one saves time.

I’m headed out the back door to put Charlie’s breakfast on top of the dirt filled flower pot. I’ll put it down, give him the ol’ pooch come ’n’ get it whistle, and most likely he will be at my feet before I can turn around even though Charlie Time is an hour earlier today. It’s all right to have Daylight Saving Time for the birds and squirrels as long as you leave my time alone.

Email Betty Heath at begeheath690@aol.com.

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Betty Heath: Me, Charlie, and time - Longmont Times-Call
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