As I look around the rooms of my house, I can clearly visualize images in my mind of historical events that occurred in my life. I can see Brother Dave instigating annoyance between Brother Rob and Chris, calling one or both of them “dumb” or any one of us making fun of Brother O.J. and his ‘Fungi Back’, my Dad yelling about the school principal for whom he worked, that was a ‘stupid son-of-a-bitch that should never have been in the classroom’, or my Mom threatening to sit on Brother Chris’ lap to force hominy down his throat. To some readers, these incidents may seem volatile but that is definitely not the case. This was the typical sibling harassment that occurred in our redneck community and a demonstration of the frustration and the passion that my parents had for their jobs as teacher or parent. Each and every one of those images brings me to outward laughter and warms my heart.
The ability to recall these memories is brought about because of the furniture, wall hangings, knick-knacks, books, etc. that are a heart-warming part of my life. For instance, my kitchen table was the table where I ate thousands, yes, thousands of meals with my annoying brothers, the sister that I wanted to be exactly like, and my parents, whom I loved deeply, feared slightly and learned from constantly – some good things, some not-so-good things. Regardless, these household items mean a great deal to me but maybe of no value to most.
Recently I had a conversation with my Aunt Betty Thayer (wife to my Dad’s youngest brother, Lynn) where she explained that these types of items carry memories to others in my family too. Her story revolved around a clock. As she described this clock, I remembered it and could see it hanging in Grandma and Grandpa’s house. This particular clock was a mainstay in my grandparents house. It was the type of clock that had a key that was needed to wind the clock in order for the clock to keep time and it hung directly above the telephone stand, complete with a swinging pendulum. As a result, sometimes you could hear the tick, tick, tick of the clock and sometimes not!
Aunt Betty explained to me that the clock came from the one-room Clifford School where Grandpa and Grandma were both teachers back in the early 1900’s. This clock was cherished by Grandma and Grandpa as it was given to Grandpa to show gratitude for his contribution to the school and the community that the school served.
Aunt Betty told me that in the early years of hers and Lynn’s (we called him Lyndie) marriage, they lived in Boston where Uncle Lyndie was attending school to become a pastor. Grandma and Grandpa visited Boston once a year to see Aunt Betty and Uncle Lyndie and their growing family. Betty said that every afternoon, Grandma would take a nap or have a rest while Grandpa walked the neighbourhood, talked with the neighbours, meeting people and learned about Boston and the community where they lived. Grandpa loved talking to people and loved history.
In addition to their annual visits, Grandma was an avid letter-writer. She wrote to all of her children, including Uncle Lyndie and Aunt Betty. Receiving a letter from Grandma was very exciting for Uncle Lyndie’s family. It was a time where the kids would gather around Aunt Betty so that she could read the letter to them, as the kids were too young to read – especially Grandma’s handwriting. In one of Grandma’s letters, she was relating what was going on at the farm and the letter went something like, “6 a.m., breakfast is ready, waiting for Dad to come back in from the barn”. Based on the continued reading of the letter, breakfast was finished and the letter continued - “breakfast is over, dishes are done and pies are in the oven!”. Grandma baked pies every day – except Sunday. The letter continued: “It’s 9:15 – at least I think it’s 9:15 but I can’t quite tell.” The reason that she couldn’t tell was because one of the hands on the clock above the telephone had fallen off. Grandma went on to explain that she wasn’t really sure whether it was the hour hand or the minute hand that had fallen off, but “it really doesn’t matter which hand it was as long as the clock keeps running”. Betty and the children laughed and laughed through this portion of Grandma’s letter. They could picture Grandma writing the letter, looking at the clock and trying to figure out the time. But in reality, to Grandma the time wasn’t important. Writing the letter, communicating with the family and looking after her family’s food preparation was important. Also important was the fact that as long as the clock ‘ran’, no money needed to be spent on a repair!
After Grandpa and Grandma died, my Dad and his siblings were clearing out the house and dividing the household items amongst the family members. In that division, Uncle Lyndie and Aunt Betty received the clock, complete with only one hand! Betty and Lyndie decided to repair the clock and use it in their home, remembering this letter and Grandma every time they looked at the clock. Aunt Betty went on to explain that the clock ultimately ended up in Cousin Mike’s possession and now it continues to tick, tick, tick in Mike’s daughter, Natalie’s home. Thank you to Uncle Lyndie, Aunt Betty, Cousin Mike and now Cousin Natalie for taking care of that special clock and preserving a wonderful memory of our Grandma. She was definitely worth remembering.