My Time

Something’s wrong. It’s too quiet. I look around. Most of the boxes are unpacked — artwork is up, rugs are unfurled, furniture is arranged — and rearranged. Still, something’s missing. Later in the week, I spy the sealed box tucked in a corner of the back room. Inside is Tom’s wall clock. It remained there because I contemplated having it find another home — it’s old-fashioned-looking, heavy to lift, to pack, and to mount. Furthermore, with every move, I remind myself to downsize. And yet…

I carefully pull out the blankets cushioning the wood and glass frame; the mechanisms quiver and I see an old friend. For over thirty years, the Westminster chimes and the pendulum’s tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock have written a soundtrack in my life. Without those familiar vibrations in the house, the silence is void. With them, I feel H Om e. The wrong has been righted; I’m keeping the clock. Matter of fact, I’m thinking of going clock crazy. I’m now infatuated with antique clocks whose quarter hour chimes and swinging pendulums move time to their unique rhythms. Some old ladies fill their houses with cats or hamsters or something batty; mine just may be clocks. Pendulum pandemonium! Or… a Space with chimes of Time.

Oh, I do recall…

Calliope plays
New Orleans

Hear the train
Sea the surf

A distant train whistles to me in my childhood bedroom and the chick chook, chick chook, chick chook on the tracks say, “Good night, Good night, Good night…”.

From our apartment in the French Quarter and heard for miles, the Riverboat Natchez’ calliope steam organ heralds a new morning, every bless-ed morning.

Floating through our windows on the Pacific coast, the continuous ‘ssshhhhhh’ of the Pacific surf comforts like a lullaby.

Presently, I hear the haunting, alluring sound a foghorn blowing across Morro Bay.

Soundtracks permeate the soul, becoming part of us. For our ever.

What sounds track your life?


“Around the axis we all spin
To determine what’s left out and what’s left in…

The moments come and go like water
I try to hold them but they’re fading
Oh my head sounds like that”

— Peter Gabriel, “My Head Sounds Like That”



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