Punished with an inheritance by my grandfather
Inheriting an old Grandfather clock would certainly only be grand if you were one whom enjoyed clocks.
Or perhaps, if there was a sentiment behind it that made it special and therefore worth the burden of moving it into your home, putting the money into restoring it and having it chime every quarter hour incessantly, you would undoubtedly put up with it in hopes of growing to love it not just for the nostalgic impressions, but for what it is, a reminder of the relativity of time passing ever faster into peaceful bliss or abysmal unrest at your particular end.
I suppose I am not overly found of grandfather clocks, but my grandpa was, and I was overly fond of him. I remember how he positioned it directly behind his recliner, so he could hear the whirring and clicking as he smoked a blackened corncob pipe.
I suppose it calms a troubled mind, and he had seen plenty enough for his to need calming. It never woke him, it never troubled him and he certainly would reprimand you for playing with it or even looking like you were to play some mischief anywhere in it's vicinity.
So when I realized he gave the clock to me upon his death, I found myself wondering if he were playing one last prank, or teaching me one last lesson- with my grandpa, most likely it was both.
It was a spectacularly made Jacobean Westminster Chimes, which I had no idea came over with my great grandmother on the boat.
I've kept it in my home, behind my chair and see the delightfully obnoxious chimes as a penance for my youthful shenanigans played upon a grandfather with the patience of Job.
I’ve received comments ranging from its captivating beauty to questions on how I manage to dismiss its relentless chimes.
And like my grandfather, I look them full in the eye, smile and simply nod an acknowledgment of their presence while listening to the whirring and clicking of time’s march.