A Matter Of Time

I have always had an affinity for grandfather clocks. I don’t know when or where in life this started. In fact, I can not remember a grandfather clock in a home of anyone I knew personally. At any rate, I have dreamed of owning one and listening to the hours chime away. That of course, was before I was aware of how quickly time does slip away.

This grandfather clock was gifted to Dirt Man and I by his mother. His father had an artisan in their community build it for him. Dirt Man’s grandfather had been a clockmaker, and we were fortunate to be gifted one of his clocks as well.

At times, the chimes on this clock transport me. They sound like church bells. Now, I did not go to church as a child. However, and this could be my imagination rather than memory, I recall listening to the church bells from the Baptist church down the road from my childhood home. I do remember Sunday mornings, Mrs. Hall’s booming voice as she reached the top of the hill. She would be bellowing “Amazing Grace” or “Jesus Loves Me”. I was intrigued. I don’t know if it was due more to the fact that it was unfamiliar to me or that I was in wonder how she should shout out her love for God for the world to hear. Thinking about that now gives me goose bumps, and I am in awe of someone who could stand up to the world with her beliefs.

Back to my chimes…the clock has a lovely fifteen minute chime, a bit longer melody for the half hour with the hour chimes being followed by the number of dongs according to the hour. The music is beautiful, inspiring, and soul lifting.

Old Time, that greatest and longest established spinner of all!…. his factory is a secret place, his work is noiseless, and his hands are mutes.  ~Charles Dickens

So often time escapes me. I will start doing something, and before I know it, it is three hours later! How does that happen? I joyously tap away at the computer and listen to the chimes. It energizes me and gives me such a feeling of completeness that I find difficult to explain…until I focus on how much time has elapsed.

Why do I think I must always have something to show to prove my time was well spent? Must I have a well-raised child to prove my years at home was not wasted? Must I show off a quilt for hours of piddling away at the sewing machine? Must I have a book to prove my words are more than mere thoughts passing through my head? Is anyone making me feel this way or is it self-imposed? Did this need of being accountable for time rear from my childhood?

Time is what we want most, but… what we use worst.  ~William Penn

I am a horrible procrastinator. Yes, I waste precious time. The guilt eats at me as I listen to the chimes mark the hours of waste. It amazes me that I can sit down and start writing or reading blogs and the hours zoom by. Is it really a waste of time? I am learning invaluable lessons from other people’s experiences. I am connecting with wonderful people. And my writing? If I touch at least one person with words I’ve weaved, were those minutes truly wasted time?

Time, the cradle of hope…. Wisdom walks before it, opportunity with it, and repentance behind it:  he that has made it his friend will have little to fear from his enemies, but he that has made it his enemy will have little to hope from his friends.  ~Charles Caleb Colton

Every aspect of living (and dying for that matter) involves the process of time. Yes, time is valuable. We never know for sure how much of it we have. How do we know whether or not we are spending it responsibly? Is it necessary to spend it responsibly? Shouldn’t we allow ourselves the luxury of just being? Lifting our souls? Playing? Loving? Surely, they cannot be considered time wasters! Who is the czar of time anyway? We are our own keepers of time. I think for myself, it is “time” for me to let up a bit. I think I need to enjoy life, guilt-free.

Time is an equal opportunity employer.  Each human being has exactly the same number of hours and minutes every day.  Rich people can’t buy more hours.  Scientists can’t invent new minutes.  And you can’t save time to spend it on another day.  Even so, time is amazingly fair and forgiving.  No matter how much time you’ve wasted in the past, you still have an entire tomorrow.  ~Denis Waitely

 

The Grandfather Clock

 

Grandfather stands tall and proud

as the golden pendulum swings.

His chimes are consistent and loud.

Every hour his mighty soul rings.

Oh, how his hours slip away

as I go about living my day.

Minute by minute, his hand moves

Followed by hour upon hour.

Time does not stop, he proves.

I think he alone holds the power.

Oh, how his hours slip away

as I go about living my day.

Through time, memories are made.

Some significant, others small.

Too often these memories fade

As if they never existed at all.

Time is relative or is it not?

If the pendulum were to stop,

would time cease to be?

What would become of me?

This is my entry for One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry.