My Grandma's Clocks

Because of her illness, my grandma has spent the past week or so in a hospital. For the time being, I've been spending some time each night with her cat. Apart from the occasional scratch or bite, he's a pretty friendly guy. Every time I go up to spend some time with him (my grandma and I live in the same building), I bring something to read. Since little of note ever happens while I'm cat-sitting, it's usually a quiet half hour.

Quiet, that is, in a sense. Recently, I've noticed that in my grandma's bedroom, there is a clock in each and every direction. I attempted counting, and though I lost track, the number easily exceeded ten. This makes for an astonishing soundtrack. The first time it really occurred to me, I sat there and attempted to understand how a person falls asleep in the midst of such cacophony. I found it a little stressful, even. After all, as a metaphor, the image of an elderly person's room filled to the brim with clocks speaks volumes for itself.

When I asked her why she has so many of these things in her apartment, she responded casually, offering that she has simply acquired them over time. Some were gifts; others were catalog orders. When she explained it in that manner, it didn't seem nearly as much of a big deal as I had initially thought. But as someone who is interested (and apprehensive) about the future - or, put more optimistically, enthusiastic about the present - I interpreted her collection of timepieces perhaps more symbolically than she intended.

I think that to an extent, every person is afraid of change. And in a large way, a room emblematic of the passage of time speaks to that quite profoundly.

"Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that's the stuff life is made of."

- Benjamin Franklin, Poor Richard's Almanac