Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2012

During the Cold War, my father was part of an elite team of highly trained pilots who flew planes in Germany.  Though he spoke seldom of his time served in Germany, what he did share was of fond memories.  One of which was an acquisition he got while there—a then antique clock—the one pictured here. 

When my father was done serving in Germany, he meticulously packaged the clock and had it shipped here to the states.  I have the fondest memories of that clock!  A hyperactive child, little could cause me to slow down.  But that clock….  There was something magical in the way its tick, tick, ticking would instantly sooth me—much as the ocean always has. 

A number of years before my father passed, he relocated to be near the beach.  It was at that time, that he gifted the clock, one of his prized possessions, to me.  I thought of all the nights my child self had fallen into a blissful sleep just beneath that clock, its ticking lulling me into a coma-like sleep. 

When it came time for me to move a week ago, there was no question that the clock would go with me.  But I didn’t trust the professional movers to relocate it.  My car was full of two large dogs and an Amazon parrot, so bringing it on move day was out of the question.   Though it pained me, I had to leave the clock behind.  Not forever, but having to part with it seemed so…so…wrong…like a piece of me was missing. 

Today, I got to resolve that and reclaim my father’s clock.  Meant I had to drive 120 miles to do so, but I would have gladly driven any distance to once again listen to its hypnotic tick, tick, ticking. 

Just as my father had decades past, I meticulously packed the clock for the move, it surviving the long journey to my new house without a single scratch.  The clock is very temperamental.  When I moved it from my father’s to my last house, its mechanisms didn’t take kindly to the trip and stopped functioning.  But a house call from a clock specialist brought it back to life.  So, it was great hesitation that I removed my father’s clock from the wall of my old house today, fully expecting it to again not appreciate being moved. 

Hanging it on the wall in the spotlighted locale I’d selected, I lovingly wound it and held my breath as I began the slow swing of its pendulum.   I watched with bated breath as it swung from the left…to the right…and back again, thinking it would stop at that.  But it didn’t.  I’m happy to report that my father’s prized German antique clock is keeping perfect time.  Guess it loves its new home as much as I do, which I’m sure would have pleased my father.