Last Saturday I snapped a photo of the portrait of my great-grandmother, grandmother, and great-uncle, and I mentioned that it would be the second item I would grab if we were being evacuated for fire (which has happened twice since we moved here six years ago).
Well, this is what I would pack first. This Seth Thomas clock was my grandmother's -- yes, it belonged to the little girl in the antique photograph from last weekend's post. It sat on top of her bookcase in the family room of their home, only a mile from ours as we grew up. I remember hearing the chimes so often: when I was napping on the rather scratchy sofa, when I was setting the table for dinner, as we watched the huge lit ball drop on New Year's Eve with Dick Clark's voice counting down "3... 2...1... HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!"
So having this clock in the center of my mantel reminds me of my grandmother on a daily, sometimes half-hourly or hourly basis, as the sound of the chimes fills our home. Having her clock maks me feel as though she were still with me a little, this woman who taught me so much, meant so much to me, did so much for me, yet never saw one of her great-grandchildren as she died while I was pregnant with E.
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