Memoir
My Mother’s Clock
Through thick and thin, it’s been a constant in my life
My mother’s clock feels like a member of my family. It has witnessed the last 40 years of our lives, standing sentry in the rooms of the many homes we have lived in. It is one of the few things that has been constant in my life.
When I was a child, there was a fancy furniture store in my small town, out on the highway on the way to Atlanta. My mother went in and bought a grandfather clock for herself when Daddy’s business was prospering. They had bought a new house and Mom had always wanted a nice clock.
My mother loved that clock. With it’s Westminster chimes it kept the house grounded in time. Chiming 4 times an hour, there was no way to forget that time was passing. It was an elegant reminder.
When my dad’s fortunes took a turn, the house had to be sold, and my mother was forced to live in two rooms in the basement of the house where we had grown up. My mom’s needlework shop was on the main floor.
There was not room for all of her beautiful things in those basement rooms, and many of them, including the clock, became a part of the shop upstairs, where she spent most of her waking hours. It was her happy place, and the clock was her comfort and her joy.
