Thursday, March 2, 2017

THE CLOCK

We are asked to write of a memento with special meaning.
I guess this could be called prose poetry.  At any rate,
it is a memento story that begs to be told.
Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub  and
to Poets United Poetry Pantry
February 2017
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It was autumn in middle Illinois, and the ears of corn hung heavy on the stalks.  The oaks were beginning to show tinges of reds and golds, and at the edge of the little town near our farm, a traveling carnival set up shop in the empty field.  There were ticky-tacky rides, and booths of chance, and the inevitable fortune teller.  Like other farm families, my parents ambled from booth to booth with me in tow, looking for diversion and an evening of fun.

We stopped at one booth that appealed to my mother.  If a tossed coin lit in a dish, you won the dish.  A couple of tosses and she won a carnival glass candy dish which pleased her no end.   We moved on to a booth with a mechanical row of little ducks moving across a track, and a row of cork-shooting guns.  A dollar bought 5 shots, and if those shots knocked down five ducks a prize was yours.  My father was taken with a gaudy carnival clock, and was determined to win it for my mother.  Five shots.  Four ducks.  Another dollar changed hands.  Five shots.  Three ducks.  Another dollar changed hands.  Determined, my father soldiered on.  My mother, a frugal soul, begged him to give up, but Dad was a man with a mission.  I was a child, so I don’t remember how many dollars changed hands, but at last, to mother’s immense relief, five ducks fell, and the clock belonged to Dad.   Once home, the clock had a special place on the shelf in the kitchen.  Never mind it was a mantel clock, gold-edged and gaudy.  Dad was a happy man.

Over the next 45 years, the clock marked the hours and minutes in their lives.  I left home, married and had children.  Mom and Dad moved 3 more times, and each time the clock went with.  It marked the hours when they sold the farm and moved to town, when Dad passed, and when Mom lost her battle with Alzheimer’s and moved to a safe place.   When Mom slept away and treasures were divided, the clock came to me.  It sits on a shelf in my den.  The cord is the same cord my father spliced and wrapped with electrical tape.  It still shows the white paint from some redecorating project.  Now it marks the hours and minutes of my life.   God willing, it will mark the hours and minutes of the lives of one of my children when I am gone.   I’m sure somewhere Dad is smiling, chucking Mom under her chin with a wink in the way he had, and reminding her he got his money’s worth after all. 

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21 comments:

  1. What a wonderful story... how it was won and how it became part of you is simply woderful

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    1. Loved a second read... the contrast between the clock and its memory is still the best.

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  2. What a wonderful memory. I do remember the clock, but the story of its acquisition, is one that I was not privy to, until now. How special to realize that it also marked the moments of my friendship, with that special couple. The many hrs. we spent around their welcoming table, eating, drinking coffee, discussing crops, gardens, flowers, & daily life, all marked, by the hands of that clock, staunchly clicking forward, each click, extending our friendship, into minutes, hrs., days, & years.
    Thank you Bev. for enhancing my memories, with yours. I feel as though, I've glanced once more into the faces of your sweet parents, checked the time, in that third face, & logged time once again, into their lives.

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  3. What a lovely story about a beloved memento, the clock ~ I hope the tradition of love continues ~

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  4. Your story enhances that clock and makes it even more precious. I am surprised the clock is still running, but then why shouldn't it? It looks very nice.

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  5. Only you could bring a gaudy old mantel clock to life and leave your readers with a dose of nostalgia and a longing for a time when life was so simple. Beautiful words, Bev,

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  6. I love the nostalgic feel of this poem!

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  7. Oh my goodness, I was right there with you, the whole way. What a wonderful family and memory......wonderful that the clock still ticks on...........sigh. Nostalgia to the max for a time gone by.

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  8. This truly touches my heart...what a beautiful story. No matter what it looks like, that clock represents enduring love.

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  9. Nice story about a family heirloom.

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  10. Well it gave me goosebumps, so I'd say it worked as a story.

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  11. What a beautiful story about this clock treasure. What a gift to have such a heirloom.....hope whoever inherits it will continue to appreciate the 'timely' gift.

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  12. I loved this story--it is wonderful that it has traveled so far and been with all of you so long

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  13. I am grinning so hard my face hurts. What a delightful tale, Bev. It says so much about your parents, their relationship, your relationship with them, your relationship with your children... I, too, believe your dad is grinning, all pleased with himself.

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  14. Such a sweet story of family and love and memories.

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    1. I too, wonder sometimes where my things will go after I'm gone. Like my mother's small china cabinet and the little clock my daughter gave me so many years ago. Your story touched me, thank you,

      Elizabeth

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  15. Your story warmed my heart. I especially like how your father was determined to win the clock, despite the price. In the end, it is priceless, full of love and memories.

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  16. Wow!!! that is one sweet story, thanks for sharing Bev. I am happy you dropped in at my Sunday Standard this week

    much love...

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  17. His money's worth indeed! This story warms my heart. (I also spent a lot of coins in the exact same setting, though nothing from there survived but memory.)

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  18. What an absolutely lovely story! And beautifully written. I loved every minute of reading it. (My oldest son already has our 'family heirloom' clock which my parents spent so much money on when I was little. It came to me afterwards, and my son grew up with it and loves it, so I gave it to him early.)

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