When I was very small, I had several books by a poet and illustrator named Joan Walsh Anglund. It was very sweet stuff, fitting for a little girl. I think I had a doll, too.
I'm not sure why one of the poems has stayed with me all these years. Perhaps it started my fascination with England, even at such a young age (which was subsequently fed upon a steady diet of Masterpiece Theatre and Monty Python).
I think of it to this day, as I consistently think in two time zones.
When I am in bed,
The English wake.
While I have lunch,
Their tea they take.
When I say prayers,
They're fast asleep.
What various clocks
Our Lord must keep.
Sweet, no? "Six hours earlier" is my mantra, and I could tell you in my sleep what time it is in Chicago.
Until, that is, you go and change your clocks two weeks before we do.
What time is it?