During the four weeks at this summer cottage on the lake, I almost never wore my watch. Now it’s back on my wrist and my old life resumes. I’m making my lists and checking them off, organizing my days, planning some kind of schedules to frame the weeks and months ahead. All of which brings its own pleasure.
The house I left 6 weeks ago is blessedly still here (not so for some in California ravaged by fire). Things are pretty much as I left them. Except for the kitchen clock. It seems to have stopped and now it’s off the wall, my wife planning to take it to (gasp!) be fixed instead of simply buying another.
But here’s the thing. I miss it so much! Apparently, I look at that clock more than I ever realized. Maybe because it’s the only wall clock in the house. When I awake in the middle of the night, it’s a habit to flick on the kitchen light to see how much sleep still awaits me. When I used to rush off to school, the clock was there to let me know to get moving! When my stomach rumbles near dinnertime, the clock confirms whether I should start chopping the vegetables. And so on.
Joni Mitchell said it: ”Don’t it only go to show, that you don’t know what you’ve got ‘till it’s gone.”
Even if it’s something as simple as a kitchen clock.