Winding The Clocks

      My parent's had an old fashioned, black mantle clock. When it proved unreliable, perhaps in the 1950's. they purchased a new, Seth Thomas Clock (see picture below) for their buffet...they didn't have a mantle. At my mother's death, my father had died 20 years earlier, this clock passed to me.
      When I left Zion Lutheran, Davenport, IA., my farewell gift from the congregation was a beautiful wall clock. (See picture below.)
       Perhaps a bit like the grandfather's clock which "quit, never to run again when the old man died' both clocks stopped after Joanne's death. The cause of their stoppage is no mystery, I quite winding them. Why did I quit?  Who knows? But quit I did so they've sat quietly for months neither telling time nor chiming the hours.
       Now they are tick tocking again because I wound them. Why did I wind them now? Who knows."  But I felt like doing it, I'm glad I did, and I'm enjoying their sounds. Could the clocks be like the chair? A marker of some threshold I've crossed? Dare I say, a metaphor 😮?  Have I entered a new place, a new time, in the land of grief?
        What's your opinion?

Takk for alt,

Al
       

The Seth Thomas

The Zion gift clock.