The days after any major holiday define anticlimactic.

Spending large amounts of time on planning, execution and, yes, cleanup are followed by waiting for the next shoe to drop. At least it’s that way for me.

Nothing really changes. Even with the end of daylight savings time, the body continues its set rhythm. I awaken at six, the clock says five and going back to sleep doesn’t happen. The system doesn’t “fall back.”

I have long opposed changing the clocks twice each year and I believe there are many folks in agreement, but the change continues.

Birds awaken with sunrise and tuck their heads under their wings at nightfall. They don’t have clocks, it just happens. It is true with the animals in the fields and the critters in the forests. Nature dictates the rhythms, which appear to remain the same.

A great deal of discussion is taking place on global warming, but this is not new. When my oldest son was in high school, he arrived home to tell me all the aerosol cans in the household had to go.

His concern was about the ozone layer. He is still gauging our “footprint,” though he does own a few aerosol cans. A book on the old bookshelf offers recipes for making one’s own cleaning substances, which can be installed with spray bottles from the dollar store.

Some work, some don’t. The recipes are for large quantities and I, admittedly mathematically challenged, may have mixed wrong.

Oh. Well. The ones that work are part of the “household ammunition box.”

I think of global warming when the days in November show temperatures above 50 degrees. It’s not bad here in Alamosa, but what will happen when the ice melts in the Arctic? What about the mountain snowpack?

It’s hard to hear global warming questioned at the higher levels of government and watch actions taken to do away with various environmental protections, but there are things an individual can do.

In 1980, my oldest son was concerned about “cattle flatulence” damaging the ozone layer and creating a “greenhouse effect” or warmer climate.

I told him we couldn’t afford to feed anti gas pills to every bovine in the fields, so we would need to control our own systems.

Burp. We can only control ourselves.

As my favorite pro-smoking propagandist says in protection of his habit, “When you start a car, it’s like lighting up thousands of cigarettes.”

The nation seems to have a love affair going with the internal combustion engine. Anyone who has tried to break up someone else’s love affair is destined to fail.

Refueling an electric car lessens the “footprint” at the home garage and a growing number of gas stations around the country but generating that “fuel” takes place somewhere and tickles the ozone layer.

Not being a scientist, I rely on experts for information and hate it when the most vocal are the least trustworthy.

I grew up listening to the song, “Que Sera, Sera.”

What will be, will be.

The future’s not ours to see, but we can change it a lot as individuals.