Many years ago, for our wedding anniversary my wife and I bought ourselves a beautiful grandfather clock. The clock store owner told me that it was an exact replica of the grandfather clock in the oval office. It keeps track of not only the time, but also the date and phases of the moon! An amazing piece of machinery, I wind it once a week as part of my Sunday ritual. The swing of the pendulum produces a loud ticking. Every quarter hour the clock chimes a light four note sound, twice on the half hour, three times at three quarters of an hour, all culminating with a sixteen-note tune followed by a loud lugubrious gonging for each hour. An amazing piece of machinery, it is accurate to the minute, after only winding it once a week. I was raised with a grandfather clock in my home, and this cacophony of sounds not only represents the time, but time passing. To me, the sounds are the heartbeat and breath of my home.
About a month ago, I was winding the clock and I noticed that it was twenty minutes fast. The weights inside were not lowering uniformly, and the clock sounded off. My Grandfather clock was sick! Inside the clock door, there was a faded label with the telephone number of the store long out of business. In this age of Siri, there is not many people rushing to purchase a clock that has a 300-year-old mechanical design based on gravity. On a whim I called the number listed. A frail, quivery voice of an old man answered the phone. I asked if he was related to the old store. He said he had been owner. I told him of the clock’s problems and before I could ask for his help, he told me “I will be there tomorrow at 6:00 pm”. At exactly 6:00 pm the next night my doorbell rang. I opened my front door and found a gnome of a man. He seemed ancient, but timeless. His face resembled that of an alcoholic elf, that may have been kicked off Santa’s team long before even Rudolph was born. He wore a green wool cap that moths had dined on. His eyes were dulled like a windshield on a foggy day, but his spirit pierced through them. His skin was ruddy with a weak old beard, white and matching the strays of fine hair pushing past his hat. He had a bright headlamp on his head that blinded me when he looked up. In his hand was an old wooden toolbox.
Seeing the grandfather clock behind me, he immediately went to the clock and gently rubbed it like one might a sick dog. He opened the door and looked inside it. I started to walk away to leave the man to his business when he barked for me to come back. “You must stay here and watch” he ordered me. He directed me to slide the top of the clock off, revealing its multiple gears and inner workings. With each swing of the pendulum, tiny wheels turn, hammers struck, and time moved on. I took a longer look at the man’s face and recognized that he was the old man that sold me this clock 25 years before. I thought he was in his eighties then! I asked him if he remembered me. He said yes, he remembers all his customers and all his clocks. He showed me pencil markings I never noticed before which he said were his own notes and dates when he came by twice in the past. With a pedantic urgent tone, he instructed me on how to oil the clock, and to adjust a tiny screw on the pendulum to make the clock go slower or faster. “Check it in two days and make adjustments, if necessary.” “Goodbye”, he said as he marched past me, out the door, just as quickly as he had come in. I knew I would never see him again.
Two nights ago, I saw my clock was running 10 minutes fast. I called my son in and explained to him that I wanted to show him how to wind the clock and how to adjust the time. He looked at me a bit confused and shaking his head replied, “that’s your thing Dad.” “Well, now it is your time,” I said, as he watched me wind the clock and adjust the speed of the pendulum with the tiny screw.
This season I hope we can all slow our lives pendulum and enjoy these holidays with our families.
MERRY CHRISTMAS! HAPPY CHANUKAH! HAPPY KWANZA!
Keith J. Ahlers
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