I never do anything half-way. If I set a table for guests, I go overboard to the point that there is little space left for the actual food. Visitors have to move extra candles, gold-sprayed acorns, pine cones, or statuary, or starve. I want to make a "presentation" out of a "company meal."
Same with my purses...........they hang on a hall tree type thing, and are changed seasonally. The "out of season" bags are in storage, and the "in season" ones stand, somewhat resembling a bulk the size of Smokey the Bear, in a corner of my spare guest room, like a giant purse-tree, with limbs of multiple bags peeking out from underneath each other, waiting their turn to go out. If they get to go out. (But this is another post.......)
My watch collection, which has sort of evolved over the past few years, is the one that actually PUZZLES me. Sure, I have to wear a watch to work. I would never hang a working clock on a classroom wall! My students would be perched on their seats, knowing the time, EXPECTING a ringing bell. I like to keep them guessing. MY watch is the only one in the room that is set perfectly, right to the second for dismissal. Last week I accidentally wore a watch that had a dead battery to work, and ALL of us, students AND teacher, were on edge.
WHICH watch to wear is the puzzle. I have sixteen that I actually use. That's alottawatches. They are displayed in a square box on my dresser, sorted by color and size and type. I have two reds, three browns, two blacks, one that has brightly colored beads for the bracelet, two pinks, a denim, a multi-colored one, two golds, and four silvers. (If that didn't add up to sixteen, oh well......) I have Braggers rights.
Every morning I choose one of these time-pieces to accompany me on my thrilling experiences of the day. I do have my favorite watches, and those are the ones that just snap right onto my wrist instead of having to be buckled. I like to move fast. But I keep those others, anyway. Ticking.
Ever since I discovered that I can buy twelve watch batteries for a dollar (A DOLLAR!) at a certain bargain store, the watch collecting has escalated. No longer is a watch a liability, when for a mere eight cents, I can refresh the battery for almost a full year for any of these beauties. Such a deal!
Why do I enjoy hearing them tick away my time, even those that rarely get worn out of the house, I ask myself. Can it be a psychological disorder? Watchomyalgia?
Let me blame this on my mother. Yeah. That's a good excuse! It's a defective gene or an inherited weakness. Mom was a collector of antique clocks, and at the time of her death, her house bulged with twenty-six clocks (not to mention several million other items.) I inherited thirteen, and my sister has the other thirteen. At one time, at the height of the glory of her collecting spree, Mom had all twenty-six clocks ticking at once. My poor father nearly lost his mind, as they all had chimes and gongs and bings and bangs that would simulataneously "go off" to announce the hour, the half-hour, or the quarter-hour. Sometimes the hourly celebration went on for a full minute, or more, with one or two REALLY elaborate clocks. (Thank God the cuckoo clock had given up its whacko voice by this time.)
Pop finally negotiated that the clocks had to be set so that he could at least snooze through a short nap before the next "clock event," and Mom then set each of them five minutes apart, all around the house. Picture this, if you will: Now, every five minutes, there was a ding, bong, or chime, somewhere, announcing that yet another five miniscule minutes had passed! Oh joy! No peace for the wicked or unwicked.
Keep in mind that each of these pieces of antiquity had to be wound on a fairly regular basis, using chains and weights and keys: A virtual round-the-clock winding!
The good news is that the novelty eventually wore off for Mom, and some of the less favorite gongers wore down, and were forgotten long enough to move into obscurity and then into blessed silence. As the years went by, a few choice clocks continued their dinging, but most of them sat or hung, muted. In my home today, thirteen antique clocks remain stifled, albeit lovely in their ageless beauty. (Except for one which I never really liked. It, hidden behind a sofa, has a pillow over it, muffling its cries for help.)
But back to the watch collection! Remember that song about the "grandfather clock that stopped, short, never to ring again when the old man died?" Could it be that I have all of these ticking items to remind me that I AM ALIVE? (And would they all stop, never to tick again, if this semi-old chick died?) Or could it be that I just like to see a decoration on my left arm, as jewelry ?
How much time do I have, anyway? My students all hear the speech about "Each of us has the same twenty-four hours every day, and how you choose to spend YOURS is your decision, but never forget that the kid with the A used the SAME twenty-four hours that YOU did, he just used it WISELY," (and that's why YOU have an F.)
I don't have any more time than the person with only ONE watch. Or NO watch. Twenty-four hours to make a good day or a bad day, love or hate, eat or diet, exercise or vegetate, read, laugh, or cry. My hours are all ticking on my wrist, or in that box on the dresser, while I try to do the best things with what each tick represents.
In the summertime, I don't wear a watch. It interferes, reminding me that time flies for other people, but NOT FOR ME ! There is such freedom in being watch-less. Who CARES what time it is? I just say to myself, "I am doing THIS now," and go on with the day, and whatever time it might be doesn't matter. Pure joy. Ah, summer.........
I plan to retire sometime in the next few years. I will have at least ten watches that I will no longer want to wear around reminding me of my time-watching-obsession-at-work. I wonder if I will have them muffled in that box, or let them run down and not replace their batteries, like that unloved, ugly clock behind the sofa. Or maybe I will just let them join the thirteen silenced antique clocks, sitting silently, never to ring again, while the old lady LIVES!
copyright KP Gillenwater
