When I was little the changing of the clocks twice a year was a real family event. My Mum would be the initiator to all this. She would always point out to us on Saturday night already that the change is ahead of us. On Sunday morning the usual weekend breakfast would be dominated and interrupted by the changing of the various clocks in the house. I would be asked, if I had already changed the time on the clock in my room. My Dad would be asked to take down the clock in the kitchen, because it was too high to be reached by my Mum. My Mum would go downstairs to my Grandma’s appartment and interrupt her breakfast, making sure all the clocks were changed. All this would take up most of Sunday morning because everything seemed to have forgotten how to change that alarm clock and then to set it to the right time for Monday morning. Clocks where too high up on walls, so that latter were getting necessary. Later on cell phones and computers had to be changed and – wait, where was this setting again?
Yesterday morning, however, none of this happened. And not just because I don’t live with my Mum anymore. My computer and my phone both had adjusted their clocks without even telling me. It was supposed to be a smooth transition. Only when I looked at my old analog alarm clock, I realized that something major had happened during the night. I was a little bit disappointed.