March 2012 Letter–Dear Clock

March 1st, 2012

Dearest Clock,

I don’t remember life without you.

Tall, elegant and simple, you have towered over every room you inhabited.

From the time I can remember, my dad would wind you late each Sunday afternoon.  He never missed a week.  It was a very reassuring ritual: he opened your door, inserted the magic key inside of your belly and wound it.  I would watch as the heavy weight would travel up to the top of your belly, all the way to your neck.  My dad would carefully remove the key and gently tap your pendulum until you began to tick again.  He would shut the door, and I would watch you go left, right, left, right as I heard your heart beat tick, tock, tick, tock.  Life was as it should be.

And you kept marking time, one second at a time, until one day, my dad was no longer there to wind you up on Sundays afternoon.  You became a silent beauty. You were still tall, elegant and simple, towering over the room, but your heart stopped beating.

I missed you.

You no longer marked time, and I moved across the ocean.  I set out to find your twin, but they don’t have clocks like you over here.  Too fat, too dark, too loud, too shiny… I gave up.  I raised children, worked, lived, but every so often on a Sunday afternoon, my heart would take me back to my dad’s ritual winding of you, and I would miss you both terribly.

Years went by and I went home to visit. I found you tucked in a corner of the garage, all three pieces of you on the floor, covered by a dusty cloth.  You were no longer tall, elegant and simple.  All life had been stripped from you.  And I cried for all that you had been.

Months later three large boxes were delivered to my home across the ocean. With trepidation, I opened the first one and found the first part of you. I quickly unpacked the others–there you were, in my home across the ocean, in three pieces, ready to be made alive again.  We loved you back to life and polished you.  You had forgotten how to tick, and you had lost your chime.  We took our time and reminded you.

You stand tall, elegant and simple, towering over my living room.  Every Sunday afternoon, my husband  winds you up: he opens your door, inserts the magic key inside of your belly and winds it.  I watch as the heavy weight travels up to the top of your belly, all the way to your neck.  He carefully removes the key and gently taps your pendulum until you begin to tick again. He shuts the door, and I watch you go left, right, left, right as I hear your heart beat tick, tock, tick, tock.

Life is as it should be.

Thank you for all that you mean to me,


Linking up with Write it Girl and Just Write



  1. very sweet. Nice prose. sentimental. And I loce my little mini pendulum clock that my hubby’s Mom had. I love to hear the tick-tock. I did turn off the chimes though…Gads what a racket! Laurel


  2. Absolutely wonderful! And I’m so glad I now know the story of this beautiful piece in your living room. Write on, my friend!


  3. Beautiful words and beautiful memories.

    I recently had to obtain a copy of my birth certificate in order to apply for a passport. When it came in the mail yesterday, I was delighted to see my father’s signature on it. It brought a warm feeling to me and I immediately had to share the news with my brother. (My dad passed away when I was 21 years old).

    I’m thankful for the memories.


  4. This is absolutely beautiful. I am so glad that you have the clock now — it looks so good in your home. I love how your husband has taken over the job of winding her and how you grab hold of the memory of your dad each time. Welcome to SDG.


  5. Oh my! This is lovely. I’m so glad that you and this heart beat of your father have been reunited…and that you’ve included us in on the celebration. Thank you for sharing this with the Painting Prose community. We are much richer for it!


  6. HI Barbara – what a great post. I love those old clocks but its the memories connected to them the most that are precious. Thanks for linking up on Winsome Wednesday. Look forward to seeing you there again next week.
    God bless


I would love to hear your reaction to this post.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s