Skip to main content

Leap Day

My fourth grade teacher took great joy announcing that her birthday was that Leap Day. She was 12 to our nine and ten.  She giggled, mistaking our faces for amazement.  We knew our times tables.  We were shocked. She looked much older than 48.
While student teaching in an area high school, I met quadruplet boys who were used to being the center of attention.  They proudly announced their birthday fell on Leap Day and bragged about being 4-year old sophomores.  
They acted like it too.
I love Leap Day. It is nature way of letting humans know that everything does not fit into neat little calendar boxes.
One of those boxes is the Gregorian calendar.  To keep up with the natural rotation of the Earth, it adds one day every four years but it still does not keep “perfect time,” so it removes a leap day three times every 400 years. Confusing?  Try this: other calendars keep up with the “natural” year by adding a month every four years. To do this, they have to rearrange the other months. It must wreak havoc on birthdays and anniversaries.  
Some cultures consider a Leap Year unlucky, so few marriages or financial transactions are planned in those years. Since no one wants to be astronomically out of sync, children born in these countries on Leap Days are considered legally born on the next calendar day.  
Come to think of it, this Leap Day whammy may be why my 4th grade teacher looked older than her age or why those high school quads were more annoying than cute.    


Popular posts from this blog

Happy Breastday to Me!

I gave myself a very special birthday present this year – I had surgery. Before you think it was to increase, decrease, or “lift” something, let me tell you it was not cosmetic (though I could probably use a few nips and tucks at my age; the infinite number of creams I buy OTC are not working their promised magic). About four or five months ago, I discovered a hard lump about the size of a large marble in my left armpit.  I had been feeling small pangs of pain in my left chest for several months, but I figured it was just my turn to dance with heart disease.  Everyone in my immediate family is diabetic and suffers from strokes or heart attacks, so I thought – here we go; my turn. I was going to tell my internist about the pangs during my next visit, so imagine my surprise when I discovered the lump. The Drama Queen in me immediately manifested herself – cancer, I thought.  I have cancer. I searched some more and found that the texture on the left side of my left breast felt diffe

Dating Challenged

I stink at dating – always have.   I sputter.   I hyperventilate.   I fail miserably every time. I blame a pathetically underdeveloped gene that got little use before I married in my early twenties, then atrophied, gathering dust and rust, until I became single again in my fifties.   I decided to use this defect to my advantage when I needed to do some investigative reporting a few years back.   While on a newspaper writing assignment on Boomer-aged dating, I sacrificed my dignity and my vanity for the sake of the story (and I got several). Thank goodness, HoneyBunch saved me from all this when we married.  (He comes up with the best dates.) I’ve decided I will “show you mine if you show me yours.”   I will swap dating horror stories with you, but you have to promise to play along. The trick here is to tell about your worst date in 25 words or less.   You must keep it clean and you cannot name names. Our little contest will run only this week and before my next blogger posting.   Me

Grandma’s Dining Table

Twenty five years ago my first husband and I bought a new home with four bedrooms and three baths, but my favorite part of the house was the enormous room you walked into from the front door. It had no dividing wall but the design was to use half of it as a formal living and the other half as a formal dining. From the beginning I decided to make it into one huge dining room that would catch the eye when everyone walked in through the front door of my home.   My three children were very young, but I envisioned them grown and married. We counted five at the time, but one day we would grow to eight, maybe more if we factored in grandchildren, so I bought a table that sat a family of twelve.  My husband thought it silly to look that far ahead and convinced me to buy only ten chairs. The room looked magnificent – the long, majestic table, the ten chairs, the buffet, a couple of real ficus, and a few other nice pieces of furniture – I was pleased. The table lasted longer than t