March 9, 2015--Bending Time

Twice a year we have our own little experience with Einstein's Theory of Relativity. When in the fall we fall back, turning our clocks back an hour, and as we did yesterday by springing forward, losing an hour as we turned our clocks forward.

Some say this semiannual ritual is outdated. That it is a vestigial product of the agricultural era when men and their sons plowed and worked the fields from sun up to sun down and wanted to make the work day more productive by adding an hour of daylight as the growing season began in early March. And thus 100 years ago Daylight Savings Time was invented. But now that few work on farms, many more in offices, we should just leave our clocks alone, they say, and thereby reduce the confusion and crankiness that inevitably occurs whenever an hour is "lost" or "gained."

I put quotation marks around lost and gained because strictly speaking there is no time lost nor gained--all we do is change the clocks, which, in Einsteinian terms do not in reality keep track of what he would consider time. Time to him, and now to anyone who has even a rudimentary understanding of his work, is independent of our ability to measure it and even if we figured out how to do that in absolute terms, the reality of time would elude us since there is no such thing as time that is immutable. It is relative, shifting as circumstances affect it.

To complicate matters further, there is that supernova we've been hearing about lately that "seems" to explode over and over again, with seems this time in quotes. In quotes because supernovas do not explode repeatably. At the far reaches of the universe, when they explode they do so only once, often leaving residual black holes. But as scientists reported last week about the Supernova Refsdal, approximately every ten years the Hubble telescope picks up images of its billions-of-years-ago cataclysmic destruction.

Einstein taught us this is because gravity has the capacity to bend both light and time. So Refsdal was "seen" to be exploding first in about 1964 (actually this was the visual image of its explosion billions of years ago finally reached us) and then we "saw" it explode again and again in 1995 and 2014 and we will be "seeing" it again, Groundhog Day style, some time around 2020. Not multiple explosions but the same explosion over and over again because the image of it gets to us at different times as the result of gravity's awesome light- and time-bending power. With light becoming a lens through which we "see" cosmic events and experience time.

So rather than grumble about having to fool with our clocks semiannually, why not enjoy participating in Einstein's universe by spending a little time then thinking about the "new" physics, which is now about 100 years old and thus not so new.

I like springing forward and falling back for another reason.

With my mother nearly 107, we have been living the past seven years in her time zone. Traveling up and down the I-95 corridor between New York City, Midcoast Maine, and South Florida. This is in large part to be available to get to her as quickly as possible in case we are needed and also to enable us to live with the guilt that we do not spend all year down south with her. We can say that though we are not here all year at least we won't have to cross any time zones to get to her in an emergency.

This may very well be a rationalization to cover with socially-acceptable denial the probable fact that over time whatever adventurous spirit we have has waned. We tell ourselves that living this way is only for the time being (time being being another Einsteinian concept), that we are eager to resume traveling, to make our long-deferred trip to India, to spend a year living in Rome, to wander through the Greek Islands, but while waiting for the inevitable, the passage of time to contribute to reclaiming whatever wanderlust can be revived, this twice-a-year ritual of adjusting our clocks and watches stands for what travelers are required to do when they "really" cross time zones, with really in quotes.

December 26, 2013--Cafe Rona

The morning of Christmas eve we got off to a lazy start.

I was up to my usual thing--reading My Promised Land in bed when at about 8:45 Rona began to stir.

After she was fully awake, rather than go right downstairs for waffles in what I have come to call Cafe Rona, we remained in bed looking west out over the city in sunlight, toward the Hudson River, and beyond to New Jersey.

Without wind or even a breeze, it was a motionless morning. The only things moving were a bank of languid clouds and planes in Newark Airport flight patterns.

"So many planes today," Rona said.

"Right before Christmas must be about the busiest travel day of the year," I suggested.

"It's fun to think about where everyone is headed."

"Packed in like sardines," I said, referring again to the recent piece in the New York Times about how airlines are cramming more seats into their planes in pursuit of more profit.

Ignoring my cynicism, Rona said, "This early they're probably heading south or west. It's too early for any overseas flights. But wouldn't it be nice to be heading for Spain later today." She snuggled closer.

"I'm happy right here with you," I said, enjoying the snuggling, "Though Spain--"

"You know what's interesting?" Rona asked, looking out the bedroom windows, "All the helicopters. Maybe I haven't noticed them before, but look at how many are flying back and forth."

And sure enough there was a steady stream, mainly heading south parallel with the river. "They look to be spaced about a minute apart."

"Here come two more. And right behind them another one. Do you think something unusual's going on?"

"I don't know. Maybe since the airports and roads are busy they're ferrying people there. You know, above the traffic."

"Or they're charters taking people out to the Hamptons for the holidays."

"Or they are privately owned taking rich people to Martha's Vineyard."

"When we're downstairs," Rona said, beginning to rise, "let's see if we can look up what's going on. Maybe it's just normal traffic or maybe something special is happening."

While Rona was making the coffee, waffles, and Black Forest bacon, I puttered around the Internet to see what I could dig up.

"I can't find any news about this morning's helicopter traffic. Let me see what I can learn about charters."

"How many strips of bacon do you want?"

"I think three." While placing my order, from the New York Helicopters Website, I gathered a picture of what was most likely the situation.

"Listen to this, from 7:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m., they offer charters from downtown Manhattan to the local airports. And it looks as if for today at least all their choppers are booked."

"No surprise," Rona said. Intoxicating smells were already emanating from the kitchen.

"They say it take 8 to 12 minutes to get to any of the three airports--JFK, LaGuardia, and Newark. And listen to this."

"What?"

"Guess how much it costs."

"I'd say, let me think, maybe $150 each way?"

"Think again," I said.

"OK. I'm assuming more. These flights are obviously not for ordinary people, so I'll say, $250 a person."

"Not even close," I said, "How does $875 per sound?"

"How much did you say?" Rona sounded incredulous. As was I.

"You heard me--$875. And there's a two-person minimum."

"Ridiculous. So before tax and probably a tip it will set a couple back $1,750 just to get to the friggin airport! Things are really getting out of hand."

"But wait, there's good news."

"What's that?"

"You can take up to 25 pounds of luggage."

"You call that good news?"

"Well, it's something. At least they don't charge for luggage as many airlines now do."

"When we travel," Rona said, laughing about the absurdity of this. "My shoe bag alone weighs 25 pounds."

"I'm glad you and not I said that."