Where’s that “like” button again?
Interestingly, my late grandma owned a clock exactly like that one. It stopped ticking years ago, though.
My father died in 2009. He was the proud possessor of my late mother’s antiques, and they were left in the care of my stepmother (with whom I am on somewhat bad terms … we are just totally out of sync with each other’s mindset).
She has had to relocate to an assisted-living setup (and a fine one it is!), so I had to barrel out over Thanksgiving to get the furniture onto a van and into storage 1/2 way across the country. There’s NO ROOM for this half-a-houseful of beautiful bureaux, blanket chests, mahogony highboy with 14 drawers raised on cabriole legs ending in pad feet, desks, unmatched and matched chairs, etc. You get the idea.
Among the more special items is: a late 18th century long case clock fitted with time and strike movement, painted wood dial having floral decoration and Roman numeral markers, enclosed in walnut case with inlaid decoration, approximate height 7’4".
My grandfather used to wind it religiously, and IT WORKED for him. Whether the moving has jostled it enough to work for me remains to be seen.
There is also a 19th century wall clock fitted with time only movment, by Waterbury Clock Company, the metal dial having Roman numeral markers. (Old schoolhouse clock – it can be read across a very large room.) This was wound and kept running by my father. Again, if it’ll work for me, I don’t know … yet.
We are in the process of purchasing an 1891 home so we can actually use these … and I can get rid of the Goodwill particleboard I’ve been living with.
My only sibling is 9 years older than me. While stationed in the Army in Germany he sent Mom and Dad a cookoo clock one year for Christmas. I lived with this stupid thing squawing out the quarter hour every hour for most of my life, Singing it’s version of the Blue Danblube waltz every hour on the the hour during the most formative years of my life. A screaming pain in the ass in the years before DVR’s and it’s caterwauling would go off in the minute before the hour and while watching TV and Columbo finally told how and why the criminal of the week did who what where and why. The goddamn clock chiming a minute early drowned out the dialog and made me want to scream.
As life progressd Mom and Dad died and my brother and I were splitting up the household goods like Christmas ornaments and Great Grandmothers china. He asked about the clock. No-no and no.
I bought the family house from the estate fair and square. The stupid clock that rings and peels like the a voice from Edgar Allen Poe’s stories is part of the house. As long as I stay in the homestead I get to keep the clock that is 90% of my life even if he did buy and pay for it.
This should be a seperate post;
I restore and refinish antiques as part of my buisness. This last Christmas I was at my Aunt and Uncles for dinner. Uncle G. has a mantle clock that would be my great-great Uncle’s clock from about 1850 (ish) that I lust after. I have three cousins that will rightly be entiled to it. So be it. Here’s my question, a thing is a thing, why is a clock so sentamental?