A few years ago the family got together and helped my mom clean out her parents' house. It was a really big job, and a really emotional job. The times at Grama and Grampa's house were fun. They always made sure there were exciting things to do, whether it be snowmobiling up to Witch Tree Hill or waterskiing on Tug Lake. The thought of never again going back to "Tug" was hard to grip.
After living there over thirty years, accumulating stuff for over fifty and never taking time to downsize, my grandparents left quite a chore for us. It was easy throwing out old carpet remnants and dumping the remains of booze left behind the bar. (Yes! They had an actual, fully stocked bar in the lower level of their house, which I thought was beyond cool.) But there were times when we had to question whether to throw, keep, or sell. What do you do with dozens of old skeleton keys found in your Grampa's garage? Or the scads of outdated yet sentimental record albums collected over the decades? Decisions had to be made, and luckily my family is not the kind to bicker over where the new homes to these things would be.
One thing I got to take home with me was the clock. Grama was kind of a contemporary woman and the old mantel clock didn't really fit into her decor, but she kept it on her credenza as a reminder of her parents. It didn't work when I took it home and I don't even recall it ever working at my grandma's house.
It didn't matter. Not only did I love the clock, I was the most likely to "inherit" it as I was the only one in my family with a mantel. It was an honor and a pleasure to own it, even though it didn't work. The clock sat on our mantel for years, stuck at 6:10.
I knew I could easily take it in and have it looked at, but it was never a priority. Until recently. I spontaneously picked it up and took it to my local jewelry store/clock fixer guy and told him I just want it to work.
Finally, after decades of mute paralysis, the clock is back in operation again. The insides are fresh and clean, yet the outside appearance remains as it has for the last eighty years. The ticking is still something Husby and I are getting used to, but the chimes...Oh the chimes! My mom always said how much she loved those chimes when the clock was in her grandma's house, and now I know why. The simple two-toned chime rings the hour and half hour, all day and all night. It gives our house a feeling of nostalgia. It takes me back to Tug Lake, my grandparents' house. It also takes me back to visiting my great-grandma's house, as vague as those memories are. At the same time, through all that nostalgia, the clock always keeps me right in the moment I'm in.
Addendum: I thought it was funny how when I took these pictures of the clock it was a mere five minutes before the time it was stuck at for years.