My old clock.

I woke up this morning to the sound of my antique hall clock chiming 8 times – but I knew it was much earlier. I can never rely on that clock to be accurate, which is one of the things that make it charming.  I have other clocks I can trust to jolt me out of my happy place with the reality that I have to be somewhere or do something. Old clocks rarely keep the correct time – and they are still loved and enjoyed by the people who own them. My clock’s face is missing the 5. I have searched for a new one, but none I’ve found seem right for my clock.  I think I will just leave it that way, as a sign of its old age. After all, we all lose some of our aesthetic beauty as we age, why should a clock be any different? For that matter, when people get old they are not expected to be right about everything. (But they usually are)

I know there are a lot of people who wouldn’t want a clock around if it couldn’t keep up with the times, or time, rather. My husband tries really hard to make the clock right. He frequently stops the pendulum until he can start it again at the correct time. I appreciate his effort, but it still doesn’t matter to me.  I have designated him as the official winder of the clock as well. Many years ago I over-wound the clock, and it sat broken for 10 years, unable to tick, unable to chime, just a pretty thing to look at. I even removed the pendulum so I could stack books on its shelf. I felt bad that I had broken it, but could never afford to get it fixed. When I got remarried I was finally able to get the clock running again and return the pendulum to its rightful place.  Now it graces my home with it’s clock noises, and, although it is rarely right, it reminds me of things more important – the past, the future and the people who have been and will be a part of my life. I love my clock, just the way it is.