I have this clock. It’s a great clock. I have had it for almost 40 years.
I found it many moons ago at a flea market. There, amidst the rows and rows of people selling everything from crocheted coasters to plants to license plates to baskets, was an older gentleman who clearly had a way with wood. He had several items he had handcrafted. I saw this clock and was immediately drawn to it. It wasn’t particularly beautiful, it was more how simple it was.
A very large face with large numbers (having always been quite nearsighted this was an immediate plus) and on the back was small box that was attached…almost like a kit…the literally was the “guts” of the clock.
There are four buttons on this box. Each one can be pushed, as well as turned. The first one lets you choose a particular chime. The second lets you adjust the level of volume for that chime. The third button lets you decide if you would rather only have the chime during the morning hours or the evening hours. And the four button is the one you push to simply get the clock to start ticking.
And it only takes two batteries to run the whole thing.
Over the years, I have loved how dependable this clock is. I’ve enjoyed the chime, although in later years, I value my sleep more so I haven’t elected to hear that. But it’s been so easy to keep running. When time changes, all I have to do is open the glass front..turn the hands…close the glass and push the button the back and it’s ticking again.
It’s like an old friend. Familiar. Dependable. Something I can count on.
And it’s been with me through a lot of tense times. Evenings I stared at this clock wondering why a boyfriend didn’t call. wondering what time I would hear about a loved one’s outcome from a medical procedure. Dreading the day ending when I didn’t want to face the next day’s events for whatever reason. Or wanting time to stand still so a moment would last forever.
It’s moved with me at least five times, two of which have been across the county. So recently, when I made a move that was only about 20 miles away, I of course assumed my clock would go with me and find a new home on the wall. That changed when I opened my trunk after many trips to unload personal items and the clock fell out and hit the garage floor, its guts hanging out the back like strings of spaghetti. Or to be more graphic, like real guts.
Intestines. My intestines.
It really felt like I had killed something. I was crushed. I vowed I’d find an old-fashioned clock repair person and get it fixed. Weeks went by and I didn’t do it; the injured timepiece sat in a box, disemboweled and silent. Then one day I thought okay, this is ridiculous, either take it somewhere for repair or put it completely out of its misery. Get a new clock. Move on.
I did neither. I sat down with it, started trying to fit the pieces back in the box, loaded the batteries back and accidentally hit one of the buttons.
And it chimed.
I started laughing. This can’t be. So I pushed another button.
It started ticking.
Even though some of the guts still hang from the box, the clock is working again. Keeping perfect time. It just was waiting for me to give it a chance.
I can’t help but think how that clock is me in many ways at different times of my life. Maybe you can relate. You feel like your insides have been ripped out of you. You are wounded. Hurt. So disappointed in someone or something that you feel like things can never be the same again. Never work like they did before. It’s all over.
And yet, if you’ll pick things up and rearrange them a bit, they snap back into place. As though the universe has just been waiting for you to realize that nothing is every really broken.
True, sometimes it’s smartest to walk away from something. Turn the page. Trade it in. Start fresh. Let it go.
But when that broken thing is us, maybe we just need to be reminded just how strong we are. How our guts have gotten us this far and they are still inside us. How our heart might be broken but it’s beating. How our mind is so very tired but it’s still on our side.
And when it seems someone else is unraveling, we can sit with them until they can put their insides back together as well.
I’m so glad to have my clock back. It was always there, just waiting for me.
I hope I can do the same for someone else.
“Sometimes when we think things are falling apart, they might just be falling into place.
Anonymous
If you’re a boomer and beyond, and you bravely decide to truly change your path, you’re going to encounter a lot of strange looks, shaking heads, and arguments about why it will never work. Yet if you truly know that your new path is where you have always wanted to walk, you must do it.
“Not only that, sometimes when you just get flying, and it all feels so good and you think, ‘This is it, this is the path that has heart,’ you suddenly fall flat on your face. Everybody’s looking at you. You say to yourself, ‘What happened to that path that had heart? This feels like the path full of mud in my face.’ Since you are wholeheartedly committed to the warrior’s journey, it pricks you, it pokes you. It’s like someone laughing in your ear, challenging you to figure out what to do when you don’t know what to do. It humbles you. It opens your heart.”
Recent Comments