Time Stilled Again
A little more than one year ago, I wrote a blog about a clock that hung on my family’s bathroom wall for nearly 25 years, faithfully keeping track of time as we showered for work or for school. When it died, I purchased a replacement clock of the same size, same color, and the same brand. The new addition’s hands managed to orbit its face for one year and twenty-four days before they made their last circle counting the numerals, the motor still pretended it was functioning with click, click, click. But the hands hung down at a permanent 6:35 occasionally giving a feeble twitch.
Today, after church, Sunday school, an afternoon meal, I hurried of to a newly opened dollar store. I decided if a clock was only going to last a year, I’d buy an inexpensive one. The dollar store had several to choose from. One had the look of a miniature grandfather clock with plastic wood grain frame. Another had a black plastic wrought iron design surrounding its face. One clock was designed with ivory plastic and gold gild design. None of them appealed to me. That left only two other clocks from which to choose. Both had the same simple round design. The only difference was their color. Both had a plain white face with black numbers and black hands. The plastic frame of the one face was white and the other was black. Both clocks were slightly larger than the one that died and would be easier for me to read.
My newly remodeled bathroom is mostly white. The walls are called Snowbound. The rugs, shower curtain, and window curtains are either tan, gray, or taupe accent colors. The vanity countertop has double sinks of white marble with veins of gray and threads of brown and rust.
The white trimmed clock would have been nearly invisible on the Snowbound walls. I bought the clock with the black frame. It was only $4.00. As soon as I got home, I stuffed a battery into its backside to start the motor and hung it up. It’s hanging there now merrily clicking away the seconds of my life.
The old clock without its battery is lying eerily silent on the desk beside me awaiting its fate. A year ago when I bought it, I thought my heart would stop beating before it did. Tomorrow, I will carry it to the basement for its autopsy.