I grew up in a home in which an antique family mantel clock chimed the quarter hours and counted each hour for us day and night. My Daddy was the one who kept it wound each week. It was a steady and comforting sound for me growing up. Bill bought me a Westminster chime Hamilton “grandmother” clock for Mother’s Day, I believe it was, in 1977, or perhaps it was Christmas of 1976. I know we had moved into our first brand new home in 1976 on Hunting Creek Rd. and it was soon after that. It’s a smaller version of a grandfather clock and has followed us from home to home. In recent years it had sat silent because in the layout of our home at Deerpoint Lake Bill found its chimes interfering with his effort to enjoy his TV or radio or music entertainment. One day around this past Thanksgiving, a few months after Bill’s death, I heard a crash. The hook on one of the weights had worked loose and the weight crashed to the bottom, quickly followed by the chain. I knew I probably shouldn’t mess with it so I called a friend whose husband repairs clocks. He came out in early December and set it aright, balanced it, oiled it and restarted it for me. It was the last piece of furniture I moved from Deerpoint, wanting to assure it got special care and handling in the back of my car. We got it relocated and for a few days I had difficulty leveling it and keeping the pendulum swinging. Finally I got it balanced and set correctly and it has now been ticking and chiming happily for two weeks. I don’t hear it most of the time, my ear is so accustomed to it, but in those moments when the house is quiet and I am aware of its presence, it is a sweet reminder of my childhood and my marriage and two important men in my life. ( written 3/24/21)
