Hickory-Dickory-Dock...My Grandmas and a Clock

For years I wanted a grandfather clock.  Not only are they beautiful but I loved the idea of hearing that rich chime fill my home every hour.  One of my favorite memories of my paternal grandparents home is waking up to the sound of their clock and the smell of bacon.

Right when I thought I'd never find one in my budget a miracle happened.  My husband and I came across one at Walmart, of all places, for $84!  We started our inspection to see why it was so cheap.  It didn't take long to figure out that it was about the same weight as a small kitten and it ran on batteries rather than electricity.  But it was pretty and I loved the dark cherry wood color.  Knowing it was probably the only chance I'd have to get one in the next decade, I jumped on it.

I've never regretted that decision.  That clock has added much to our home.  Beauty, sound and humor.  Yes, you heard me, humor.  As the life of the batteries comes to an end our clocks chime starts to slow down as well as slip into a lower key.  The first couple notes are fine and then it just seems to peter out.  By the time it starts to sound the hour there may be a good 10 seconds between each bong and if the batteries are really low it may never chime past 7 o'clock.  I can think of more than one occasion where we sat around laughing at the poor thing trying to do its duty and communicate the time.  And I love it.  I look forward to it running down for some reason.  It gives and gives and gives then starts to run down but still keeps giving everything it can.

One time my husband tried to get rid of it.  I about had a conniption fit.  I had to convince him of my attachment.  He had a hard time getting it.  He gets it now.  Keep your hands off my grandfather clock!

A few weeks ago we were able to see my grandmothers.  One not far from her 90's the other not far from her 100's.  I noticed both of their hands.  Wrinkled, lined with veins, knuckles gnarled, thin-skinned absolutely beautiful.  I've been thinking of all that those hands have been responsible for.  The list is long but I have to mention my favorites.  Both grandmothers showed love and worked with their hands in different ways.

One of my earliest memories with my grandma Anderson was her response every time I said, "Oh shoot." (which was often) she pulled out her finger guns and yelled, "Bang-bang."  I thought she was so funny.  She had the tiniest hands.  She could fit her whole hand into a pint sized jar and wash it comfortably.  She always liked to wash dishes.  I didn't take after her in this.  Her hands knit countless sweaters, afghans, wash cloths and Christmas stockings.  Each of her posterity has received their own personalized hand-made stocking and most have received gorgeous sweaters, afghans for weddings and newborns, and wash-cloths with a $25 check for Christmas.  I love those checks because of the hand writing.  I saved my last one, I wasn't sure if I'd ever get another.

My grandmother Jenks used to make the most beautiful posters for her Relief Society lessons.  I used to sit on the couch watching as she was on the ground with lace, glitter and glue.   By the time she was done she'd created a masterpiece I was in awe of.  She also made gorgeous desserts.  Everything was decorated so perfectly it was almost a shame to eat it.  Of course once you tasted these creations you realized the real shame would have been NOT to eat it.  Everything she made tasted better because it was her hands that made it.   When I was in junior high school there was a group of girls who were very mean to me.  The bullying I suffered was severe to say the least.  My grandmother taught me at her knee that the best and most Christ-like way to handle our enemies was with love.  She offered to make her famous juicy, huge cinnamon rolls for me to give to the girls who were so mean.  I'll always remember their faces when I delivered those cinnamon rolls to them in their classes.  Priceless.  Although we never became friends they did back off and things became tolerable.  All because my grandmother served me.

The other morning as my clock struggled to say, "It's 6:00, time for scripture reading," I realized that it is much like my grandmothers are in the most important ways- Giving me loving reminders to do those things that are most important.  Full of love and dedication, diligence, hard-work and long-suffering and absolutely beautiful to me.