If you think about it, marking days on a calendar to commemorate or celebrate an event is odd. The Earth's spin is independent of its rotation around the Sun. Both are independent to the Earth's slant on its axis. A calendar is an effort to make all those line up. They don't. If God's a watchmaker, then Casio has him beat.
Meanwhile, that Sun, the Earth and all the rest of the planets are moving through at mind-boggling rates of speed. We can't find our position in space in the past much less recreate it. The idea that the month and day commemorated has anything to do with the original day is foolish.
Yes, it's weird but it's a poetic kind of weird. A human kind of weird, and therefore not really weird to us at all. It would probably weird to our pets, though, if they ever catch on enough to understand.
In human history, time and space were separate entities. Making a calendar that was season-accurate would get you worshiped, e.g. the Pharaohs. You know when river's going to flood, you brought some order to chaos. You are a God.
I tried to keep that perspective on it today. Because it's the only calendar marked day that could bring tears to my eyes. Like the Beethoven's 7th Symphony, Second movement, I can predict the mood I would be in today. The recording is the same whenever it plays.
Nine years ago, I lost a close family member. A nephew. He committed suicide on his twenty-third birthday an January 18th, 2006.
I got up this morning with difficulty anyway, having taken Benedryl for sleep last night. Benedryl a strange drug. It won't really put you sleep as much as it keeps you asleep.
So, I was difficult to rise this morning. Then, remembering the day, went back to bed. I thought of my nephew. Of how different things would be now if he had lived. That was the time I stopped being young and started to feel middle-aged.
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