Monday, August 3, 2015

It's Forty o'clock

I am so tickled with myself right this very minute.

I like clocks. I like them a lot. I bought a Seth Thomas electric mantle clock with a very interesting art deco type face design which I have never seen before. I wondered if it were from the 20's, but nope. It's a 1940 clock. It's only worth about $50, not much, but it's a pretty little clock and I like it, and besides, I only paid $10. for it.  It kept perfect time, but that thing was annoyingly loud. I was worried that perhaps the gears were grinding and that it would damage the clock over time, so I carefully ripped it apart and began to drop oil onto each individual gear.

Well. I tried to be careful, but I ended up screwing up the chimes. Had no idea what I'd done but I had a very quiet electric clock that kept perfect time but no longer chimed, which was dang disappointing since there is nothing that I love better than hearing a chiming clock. So I ripped it apart again, and observed and fiddled about. Much to my surprise, I fixed it. I now have a quiet clock that keeps perfect time AND chimes on the hour and half hour.

Quite impressed with myself, I found myself studying my 150 year old key wound. That clock has been back to the clock shop twice. TWICE. I spent $150 to get that bad boy up and running. It ran for about a month and then stopped. If the guy at the clock shop wasn't such a weirdo, I'd have taken it back again, but I don't like him.

Anyways, I thought to myself, "Well, you certainly can't do it any harm..." so I opened up the back and I watched. I set the pendulum swinging and then I watched it. I watched what moved. I watched what seemed to be happening as the pendulum slowed and finally stopped. I did a little fiddling with a gear and set the pendulum swinging.

An hour and a half later, I just heard the four clocks chime 10 PM.

I find myself studying my mother's cuckoo clock and wondering.... I certainly couldn't do it any harm...

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Phone Call.

We've been on the receiving end of a flurry of strange calls lately.

Yesterday, the phone rang. It was obviously a call center. You could hear the voices in the background, including a heavily accented voice that was screaming like crazy at someone. "I don't care..." the bellow went.

A little surprised, I said, "Hello?!!"

And a heavily accented voice (think Jamaica, or the like) came on. He politely said, "May I speak to Timothy please."

I said, "No."

He wasn't prepared for that answer. He hesitated.

I said "We don't wish to speak to scammers."

Long pause. Polite 'click'.

I hope the person who was being screamed at found the wherewithall to hang up the phone.

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

On the other side.

It amazes me the difference a job can make.

It's embarrassing to admit, but the pharmacy did not work out. It is the only job that I have ever worked that I left after giving a two day notice. In April, I received a raise that I'd been promised the previous August. A raise that was, after repeated questioning, finally promised in writing in October. As soon as I finally got that long awaited raise in April, my hours were cut from 40 to 30 hours per week.

That was the final straw.

I went back to what I know. I am working with the developmentally disabled. It is a 'fit'. I am happy in my job. I am earning a livable wage. I enjoy my clients, and I receive positive feedback from my superiors.

I also look back at the last couple years and realize that I've been dealing with a pretty heavy duty depression.

I don't know why that should be, that a job determines so much of my feelings of worth, but it does.

But I'm starting to love life again. I am a pretty blessed woman.

Sunday, July 19, 2015


Probably going to sound very stupid, but you know what I love? I love sitting in the semi dark and hearing the clocks strike the hour. First the clock in the hall (slowly, in a serious, deep tone), and then the clock in the library joins in (a tinkly, slower chime which continues on after the hall clock has efficiently done its job.) The two clocks seem to goad the livingroom clock in action, and it joins in, just as the library clock finishes.

As the clocks count the hours, I count my blessings. When the last chime fades into eternity, I sit there in silence, and I am counting still.

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Karen in Texas wanted to know what was going on with the house. Well...we took a gamble. The house had been on the market for over a year. The decision was made that we would put in a bid once the house we'd been working on sold.

A friend noticed that the house was no longer on the market. She messaged right away to see if Tim had talked me into it. "No," I said.

Tim was dead certain that they'd pulled it and listed it with a new realtor, which had happened before, but I called our realtor just to be sure. Someone has put a bid on it. Tim still feels quite strongly about this house. I'm torn. It's a beauty of a house, but instead of the profit from the sold house going into our bank account, it would be going into yet another house. We have talked often about Tim retiring early. This purchase would have kept that plan on the back burner for a couple more years.

So, I'm okay with it. Tim is very disappointed, and is hoping against hope that the deal falls through. It was fun to daydream about it, but I'm happy where we are.

I had a nice moment Sunday night. The moon was glorious, just breath taking, hid within some clouds. I sat visiting with friends as the day turned into night, and I was grateful for friends.

Other than that, just working really hard right now.

Yearly cancer stuff on Monday, and I'm dreading it. I keep telling myself that I'm totally ridiculous that for the past 6 years every report has been good. I'm not sure why I'm being so superstitious.