A Blog by Chicken Wrangler Sara

Many songs from my childhood are stored in my brain and happen to be much more accessible than the location of my cell phone at any given moment. One of these songs is “My Grandfather’s Clock.” 

I only have the first part committed to memory.

My grandfather’s clock was too large for the shelf.

So it stood ninety years on the floor.

It was taller by half than the old man himself,

Though it weighed not a pennyweight more.

It was bought on the morn’ of the day that he was born

And was always his treasure and pride

But it stopped, short never to go again

When the old man died

Ninety years without slumbering

His life seconds numbering

It stopped, short never to go again

When the old man died

My father-in-law had a grandfather clock in his home for as long as I remember. He built the case from a kit, and it ran efficiently for many years.

The chiming of the clock was something that Alex, our grandson, quickly noticed and enjoyed when we visited.

When Beekeeper Brian and I were there this past Spring Break, the clock was not working. His dad had pulled it away from the wall and opened the back to see if he could fix it. It still wasn’t working when we left.

The week after Spring Break, Brian’s father died.

I thought about that clock and wondered what would happen to it. Andy, Brian’s brother-in-law, decided to continue the work on the clock. The sound of its chime was something he also enjoyed. And it would remind him of the original owner.

RIP Theodore Miller.