The Time of My Life

Funny how it is that as we get older, we cherish the things we remember from our childhood. My grandparents' home was a place of quiet joys and exciting wonders. Grandpa had a photo developing area in the basement not far from Grandma's barrel of powdered clay, work table, and kiln. Grandpa had his stereo with ribbons of cords laced under the oriental carpets, and Grandma had her dishwasher in her Delf blue kitchen. I was never afraid of the dark in my grandparents' home because through the stillness of night I could hear comforting sounds on the quarter hour, half hour, three quarters of the hour and the top of the hour. The towering grandfather clock which seemed to take up an entire wall in the front hallway marked every 15 minutes with it's mellow Big Ben chimes until it reached the full hour. I would count each chime as it resonated through the quiet house. A silence lingered as if it were the last, and then next...bong...until the full number completed the chorus. And on the heels of the silence that followed the last chime, a high double bell from the brass ship's clock in the kitchen would ring out ding ding...ding ding...ding ding...ding.. Early in my childhood Grandpa taught me how to tell time by the ship's bells. Time was divided by three watches in a twelve hour period: noon to four, four to eight, and eight to midnight, then again, 12 to four etc through the 24 hour day. Each hour was signalled by a doublet such that 1:00 P.M. or A.M. was two bells ding ding. The half hour was rung by a single bell such that ding ding...ding. was 1:30. My happy hours with my grandparents were lovingly measured by these two unique and memorable time pieces. The love of these two particular clocks with my childhood fascination of music boxes was recaptured one day in the shopping mall food court. I was taking a quick lunch while Christmas shopping when I heard, wafting about the noisey crowd, the unmistaqkeable rich tones of a double armed Regina Music Box. (I easily recongized the sound because when I was a teen we had friends who often played their Regina for me). I followed the music like the distant calling of my name across the food court and through the mall and into a clock shop when it stopped.. "You have an antique regina music box here. May I see it? " The proprietor looked at me with a wry smile and said, "Yes we do. It's in one of our clocks." and proceded to show me the intricate workmanship of an electronic CD that played on the hour from the inside of one of their grandfather's clocks. It was awesome. For over six years, whenever I was at the mall and had time, I would visit the clock, vowing some day I would buy it. When that day came, the CD had been replaced by micro chip technology, and the clock I wanted was no longer available. "But," said the proprietor, "We just got one in that might work for you.." I followed him to the back room. The clock was still cold to the touch from coming off the truck. I made a down payment and a payment every month for two years until the clock was delivered to our home, it's crystal pendulum spinning in the light casting a thousand spining lights on the ceiling like a disco ball, its glorious rich Big Ben Chimes pealing out the time by quarters, and the our favorite time of day heralded by the unparallel tones of a Regina double armed music box. The following month I made a down payment on a ships clock which was fully paid within a year. When we designed our home, a single prominant wall was devoted to our Grandfather's clock and the ships clock found its home above the kitchen sink just as my grandmother's clock had been. Such are the times of my life.