There was a clock that hung on the wall of my grandparents’ house in Michigan. Next to the kitchen, above the table, the sound of its tick as familiar as a view I could trace by memory.
I’ve had the clock for years, gathering dust in a storage box. I always talked about maybe hanging it someday—except it wasn’t much to look at, with its enormous brown curlicued plastic surround. It wasn’t the sight of the clock I wanted, exactly, it was the resurrected memory of the days I spent in a place I loved so much.
This is the Christmas present JB gave me on Sunday:
He took that clock and set its face in a gorgeous piece of wood, engraved with a subtle design that evokes the original whorls, alongside my grandparents’ name. It’s on my kitchen wall right now, ticking away.
The sound of it. Oh, I can’t even describe what this gift means to me.
Other Christmas moments, captured via cellphone camera:
Did you have a good holiday? What are you up to this week? I feel like I should have planned better for the kids being home all week long … although I’m not sure how. Stocked up on duct tape, maybe.