Remember my clock? The ca. 1956 Smiths mantle clock Martha found at a flea market and bought for only $5 because it didn’t work? Well, it’s been running beautifully since June. It sits on the mantle of a gas fireplace that we’ve been enjoying regularly since the temperatures turned cooler. Behind the clock is a picture window framing the yellow October leaves of a sugar maple. The clock reminds me that the seconds pass at the same pace no matter what time of the day or year it is. The seasons constantly alter the view out the window, but the clock keeps ticking, dependably adding a chime every half hour.
It doesn’t keep perfect time like the digital read-outs on my cell phone and computer screen. It’s not nearly as accurate as the atomic clock in my cable box. It’s an analog clock that has to be wound up every week. It gains a couple of minutes the first part of the week, then loses them toward the end of the week. Occasionally, I have to open the back, stop and remove the pendulum, and turn the nut inside it either to the left or right. This adjusts the length of the pendulum, which in turn affects how fast it swings. It’s amazing to me that the tiniest change in length – even one that is imperceptible to the eye – is enough to increase or decrease the clock’s accuracy by a couple of minutes each day.
I’m grateful for the accuracy of digital clocks. But they don’t need me. In fact, I can’t adjust them. They operate entirely on their own. So while I’m glad to have