December 15, 2008
A Family Clock.
I feel like it was yesterday that my father brought home this clock. However, thinking back, it must have been about 25 years ago. I have no idea where the time went. We have been living in Sweden for no more than a couple of years and I know for a fact that he spend a fortune on it.
The clock holds sentimental memories for me. It was hanging in the living room, when I was a teenager. On the wall opposite my room. In the night, if I accidentally woke up, the striking of the clock would tell me the time. I remember counting the strikes in the darkness. Low number meant I had plenty of time. High number was stressing me out.
I also remember the clock chimes when I was the only one up. When the house was still as I was sitting all alone in the night over books, trying to finish my homework or when I was preparing for tests. The clock was a constant, never changing presence, a sort of a reliable friend, yet reminding me of the fleeting time.
Two years ago my parents made a decision of a lifetime to leave the country they called home for over 25 years and relocated back to their country of origin. I am still in awe of them, as I know how much strain and stress such a big move means.
When they visited me last time before their final move they brought me a gift. They brought me the old clock. “Bim-bam” it said on the cardboard box, which made me smile. The clock was not working my father said, but it was not broken; it only needed cleaning.
I hung it up a few weeks after their departure and behold, the clock worked and the ticking sounds and the chimes would bring back a wave of memories.
Since then the clock works when it decides too. Sometimes, when I start the pendulum, it will go for days or weeks or stand still for equal amount of time. I actually do not care, to me just it’s presence is simply magical.
Little did I know those sleepless or lonely nights long time ago as a teenager, that one day this clock would hang in my own home.