Showing posts with label clocks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label clocks. Show all posts

Saturday, March 8, 2014

The clock too oft deceives

Today I walked for 2 hours 40 minutes, exploring forests and swamps. There is almost no snow left, but the swamps are still mostly frozen, so they can be crossed rather easily. Except of course in those spots which are not frozen.

The photograph was taken on February 21st in the clock museum in the WeeGee Exhibition Centre in Espoo.

(Posting title is from the poem Lines on Nonsense by Eliza Lee Follen.)

Friday, March 23, 2012

Spring forward, fall back

Next weeked we have the switch to summertime, and today there was discussion on the radio about how to remember which way to move the clock hands. And the rule is rather easy: always towards summer, so move the hands forward in spring and backwards in autumn. Or, in Americal English: "spring forward, fall back".

Also, it seems that we will be getting some new snow during the night when the clocks are moved backwards forward [one should read what one writes], so winter is not yet quite over.

I went for a long walk with the daughters after sunset, admiring the colorful show.

Friday, February 24, 2012

That soft lost near and distant voice

Today we visited WeeGee Exhibition Centre in Espoo, where there are a lot of interesting museums. We saw toys from different periods, objects from all over the world, and old clocks.

Speaking of clocks, they seem to be a lost art, as almost everyone has a cell phone. Or is there a role for a clock in the world of today?

Well, maybe there is one transient use: those who fly frequently don't love the "Please switch off all your electronic devices" announcement. If you want to know the time during such a time, a clock helps, and you don't need to switch it off even though it may be electronic.

Some of the clocks we saw were rather remarkable, having up to seven different hands: seconds, minutes, hours, weekdays, day of the month, month, and phase of the moon. High techology in the old times.

(Posting title is from the poem In the Museum at Teheran by James Laughlin.)