What Caesar Rendered Unto Us
Atlanta, GA
February 29, 2020
Thirty days hath September, April, June, November.
Of the rest, I can’t remember.
Except February, which hath 28.
Plus, every four years, today’s date.
Life is too short to sweat the small stuff…but too long not to. And this year is even longer! We are given an extra day. But it is a Saturday, so we need not sweat too much.
Leap day is a gift of the Caesars. The founder of that dynasty lent his name to the Julian calendar. It was a vast improvement on the preceding confusion, and closely resembled our current reckoning.
Later, during the reign of Caesar’s adopted son, an additional day was added every fourth year. For good measure, each man was humble enough to name a month for himself.
Like borrowing money to pay debts, their respective actions appeared to work…in the short term. The limitations of the first quickly became obvious. The months, like unruly dogs off their solar leash, raced ahead of their seasonal master. The insertion of the quadrennial leap day brought them to heel.
Then…for centuries…harvests, feast days, and seasons seemed to march in time. But by the Middle Ages, they were again out of step. The vernal Equinox was sliding toward early March, pulling Easter into the winter. The calendar had grown tired, and lagged the sun by ten days.
In 1582 Pope Gregory XIII eliminated the superfluous days, and excised the leap day from years divisible by 100 that are not divisible by 400. The Catholic world was again on track, but the recalcitrant British initially refused to adopt the Papal calendar. Not until 1752 did they, and their American colonies, swallow their pride.
People often wish they could have one more day, and wonder what they would do with it. Today we received it. How to spend that precious coin?
The day dawned beautifully…cold, but crystal clear, and crisp. We rose just after the sun, and long after our son. Alexander and his school symphony had music rehearsal all day and a recital at night, so his day was composed for him.
I walked the dog. Or, rather, he walked me. In the brisk breeze, I felt as if I were parasailing behind a drunken boat pilot. Returning home, I poured my coffee, and opened the newspaper…and then made the mistake of reading it.
We all know the stock market takes the stairs up and the elevator down. This week it didn’t bother with the elevator. It just got the shaft. Conventional wisdom asserts that a virus pushed it down the chute. Perhaps. But a decade of central bank booze and fake money heroin had caused Humpty Dumpty to stumble toward the ledge. He was already liable to fall.
In an adjacent column, we read of a possible pandemic afoot. To not make myself sick, I steered clear of political news and what passes for economics commentary. We decided instead to make healthy use of our spare day. We turned to sports.
David can use the gift of time to practice his golf. He learned a few days ago that he qualified for the Walton High School team, and could begin competitive playing as early as next week.
I could not be more proud of, or happy for, him. Preliminary try-outs were held last Tuesday. But David had not lifted a club since before Halloween. So last Sunday, we went to the range. And he immediately began firing lasers…off the bottom of the club. I watched closely, dispensing useless advice and futile suggestions.
Few things are more annoying than someone in the backseat harping directions at you when you try to drive. Or a well-intentioned editor standing over your shoulder as you try to write. Or some hacker standing beside you, spouting platitudes on how to improve your golf swing.
David’s attitude was fine. He just needed room to stretch, and to breath. And his father, hovering over him, was taking up too much space and too much oxygen. So I went away.
I returned ten minutes later. David gave a thumbs up. Balls that moments ago had careened off the club now soared into the distance. Having lost his father, he found his swing.
He brought it to the initial round of elimination trials on Tuesday. Having cleared that hurdle, he played his qualifying nine on Wednesday. Thursday he was fitted for team gear and offered a Walton High golf bag with his name on it.
As a freshman, he will be confined mostly to match play tournaments, and not all events. But that experience, the rhythm and camaraderie of a team, and the discipline of regular practice will be invaluable as he progresses with game and proceeds thru life. And I can’t wait to watch…silently, and from a distance.
Outside, the wind is kicking up, swaying tall pines and lifting a murder of crows from our lawn. That a flock of crows is known as a murder would come as no surprise to the frogs and worms that enticed them to our lawn in the first place. Circling above, a hawk licks his beak, laughing at all of them.
Most of us are spending our supplemental day in far better fashion than the critters in the yard. Some, like my parents returning from Down Under, have already had an extra day in February. But I’m sure they don’t mind another. Not as a rendering from Caesar, but as a gift from God. After six weeks circumnavigating Australia, and a long one crossing the Pacific, they can no doubt use a day of rest.
As the crows fly away, and the worms slither to their holes, we continue considering the best way to approach the day. Then I realize…we do that everyday. Today is different. Instead of us approaching the day, we will let this day come to us. We’ll see what breeze blows, and where it carries us.
We are blessed with few obligations, with only a Georgia Tech basketball game later today.
Maybe it’ll go to overtime.
JD
