Tick tock...

From my earliest memory, my mother had an antique clock that presided over the living room mantle. The wood was dark, the glass on the door wavy and ancient.  The finish on the metal face was crackly, and each Roman numeral had been painstakingly painted by hand. The decorative bit under the face is reverse paint on glass, in gold and green. A heavy brass pendulum hung behind the door, perfectly still.  Though the original key was tucked inside the case, the clock never worked.

Last summer my sister called.  "I am getting rid of things. You don't want mom's old clock do you?"
You bet I did!  She brought it with her when she came to visit next, and with joy in my heart  I put it in a place of honor.  There was something missing, however. The clock had no voice, it's hands stuck in the same place they had probably been for the last 60 years or more.  It seemed ridiculous to me that though this clock had been a fixture in my life for EVER, it had never once worked.

Recently I hustled it off to my favorite jeweler.  "I have a guy that can fix this," he said.  "It will take about 2 weeks.  Yesterday he messaged me. "Your clock is ready. It keeps perfect time. Stop by when you have a chance, it will be $150."

I was there by noon today.  The jeweler showed me how to carefully wind the clock. To my delight, it has an alarm, too!  Like magic, there in his noisy, busy shop, the pendulum swept back and forth.  I carried the clock home carefully, polished its wood with lemon oil, and set it back in its new rightful place.

I stepped outside for a moment, and when I came in the entry room was not silent. There was a resonant ticking sound, like a welcoming heartbeat in my home.   All day the hands have been tracing across the the crinkled face, keeping flawless account of the minutes. It's slumber over, the voice of time is finally echoing comfortingly through the air.