When I was in first grade, my mother let my twin and me play with neighbor kids anywhere on our block in our small town if their parents were home. Her safety rule was to “be home by dark.” I had several close calls when I dashed onto the covered front porch in the waning light of sunset. I needed more light after school.
One cool spring day at the end of World War II, I overheard my father talking about the return of “War Time.” War sounded terrible to me until he said it was a way to save daylight like people did during the war. Grandpa Carr had saved cans for dimes in the war. Maybe I could save time like pennies in my amber glass piggybank. Excited about a way to prolong sunset and play longer, I asked him what it had been like to save time.
He harrumphed and shook his head. “Like cutting off one end of your blanket and sewing it on the other end to make it longer.”