Grandfather Clock

I am waiting for my grandfather clock to be delivered. It’s from my friend’s aunt’s estate.  She didn’t want it. Her brother didn’t want it. It reminds me of my aunt and uncle’s clock in their house in Iowa. As a child, I’d spend the night with my cousin and listen to the clock chime every fifteen minutes and bong out the time every hour.

It was fascinating to hear it. I always had good times in that house, whether it was admiring the furniture or the antique plates and dishes or whether it was hanging out with my cousin, Nina.

They are all gone now — Nina dying way too young.  So when Sherry offered the clock to me for $90 plus the cost of the clock mover, I said yes.

In anticipation of its arrival, I emptied the green cabinet with glass doors and moved it out of the way. What to do with the contents? A project for another day. Today was painting day. I’d wanted to paint the walls for years but never got around to it. This was the best time, before the heavy clock arrived.

But first, the spiders and dead beetle bodies, 10 years’ worth, had to go.  I sucked them up with the hand vacuum, then stirred up the old paint that I found in the laundry room, slapped it on the two corner walls, and ended up doing another wall and around another corner.  Full disclosure, the wall has a huge doorway in it, so it wasn’t that much to paint.

Still, my neck and shoulders were telling me to stop. I went off to the shopping center for five clay pots for my five euphorbia plants I’d pulled out of the rocky firepit area in my other house. I wanted to see how they’d grow at the beach.

The drug store was out of pots, with Christmas decorations in their place. The grocery store had a huge glazed blue pot for only $19.99 (same as my other Lucky’s), so I bought one. The thrift store had no pots, so I headed to the hardware store to buy the rest.

Only half an hour until the clock gets picked up and comes over here. By then the second coat of paint that I just slapped on the two corner walls should be dry.  I hope the clock mover, Vlad, is a nice guy. I’ve only met Sherry’s brother once, and he is coming, too. I’d better get my face mask out of the car, which I need to move down the street so they will have room to park.

You see, a landscaper left a huge flatbed trailer with the ramp down in front of my house for the weekend, the kind that carries a Bobcat. I just found out the name of the landscaper from two guys working a home construction project down the street. The Bobcat was there as evidence. I asked them the name of the landscaper, and they told me.  I called the landscaper and left a scathing message. Then I called the police.

Maybe they won’t give the landscaper a ticket, but I hope they do. What a rude thing to do to a homeowner.  It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have two guys coming to bring a very old, very delicate grandfather clock into my home.

The landscape guy had tried parking the trailer in front of my 98-year-old neighbor’s house, but her care giver came out and told the guy to move it. He picked my house instead.

Murphy’s Law, of course, since the clock delivery is today.

Don’t mess with an old woman with stitches in her leg and recent colonoscopy memories.

It won’t end well if you do.

Couldda Wouldd Didda

The clock has arrived, and it is gorgeous.

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