A Book With Twelve Pages

Doing my radio show today and looking at the calendar I bought. Its pictures for each month are radio station antennas and I guess you have to be into broadcasting to look at something like that every month. Some of us can tell you what station it is just by showing us a photo of the antenna(s). It may be an illness to some people, but it’s just part of being in radio for us.

I got to thinking, “That’s nice, and all, but why twelve months? Why not five? Why not just one year with no divisions? Is it necessary to measure off our calendars by the phases of the moon, and then shift the days around to satisfy some ego-driven Roman emperors? Back when, what we know as January and February didn’t even have names; they were just a miserable winter period that the ancients endured until the New Year started on March 1. The swampy morass of the year, best forgotten.

So now we have calendars, but so many of them will not only say “January 11,” but will also say “11th day of the year, 354 days left.” It appears to be necessary that we know how many down and how many to go, regardless of which month it is and how many days into that month we are.

I wonder what would happen if we dated today’s checks “011, 2006”? They’d probably come back. I’m going on a cruise 101, 2006 and my brother’s birthday is 173, 2006. If the children are good, Santa will bring them nice things on 359, 2006.

“273 days hath September…”