Okinawa Time

For a smart person, I’m kinda dumb about some things.

Like, for instance, the way time changes depending on where you are.

I blame it on my dad.

He lives in Arizona which sometimes uses the same clock I do here in Colorado. But the other half of the year, they follow Star Date Time, or something. When it’s 2 pm on a Saturday at my house, apparently at his it’s 317 years in the future. And Tuesday.

At one point my daughter lived in Oregon and my son in Illinois. Not a day went by when I knew which one was waking up and which one was tying his shoes.

When my son moved from Chicago to Japan, I simply gave up.

Then my husband came to my rescue. He told me if I add three hours to whatever time it is at my house, then flip the a.m. and p.m., that’s Okinawa time.

Even though I don’t hear from my son as much as I’d like, I find it quite comforting to check the time and know it’s 3 a.m. and he’s safely tucked in. (Shut up. I do too know that! Safely. Tucked. In.) Or that it’s 10:30 a.m. and he’s busily working.

But I still haven’t caught up with my dad. I don’t know where he is on Tuesdays in the future.