Grady's ready for Christmas!

December 21, 2015 - Monday
30 degrees/cloudy/calm winds
Pentoga Road

The clock just chimed on the quarter hour. It's a beautiful chime and sounds as though it should originate from the grandfather clock rather than the one on the mantle that Dad built in 1997. 

There's a strange story about that clock. Much like his son in later years, after retiring, Dad built himself a shop in a small building in back of their Florida home. My father enjoyed dabbling in about everything. In his earlier years and when I was a small child, he loved building model planes, especially those of the WWII vintage. He passed that love onto me and at one time, I probably had fifteen or twenty plastic planes hanging from the ceiling in my bedroom.

Though he tried, Dad would be the first to tell you he wasn't handy, especially when it came to mechanics, electricity, or plumbing. All three completely confounded him, but when it came to making something with his hands, Dad wasn't afraid to jump in with both feet.

He made the clock on the mantle and it is truly beautiful. When Mom asked if I wanted it years ago, shortly after Dad's death, I jumped at the opportunity. 

Mom sent the clock to Sargie while I was still in Alaska. Once we set up house, it was one of the first items to find a permanent resting place on Pentoga Road.

But would the clock work? It had been a while since it had kept time or chimed. There was only one way to find out.

For over a year, the clock kept perfect time. I wound it twice a week and we soon grew use to its chimes, every quarter hour, and the melody it played on the hour. In the early morning hours, I would lay in bed in the dark listening for the clock to chime five times, then drag myself from under the covers. It was a beautiful sound that Sargie and I both came to love.

Then suddenly it quit.

I fiddled around with it, found special oil with which to lubricate the gears, leveled and moved the clock around in an attempt to keep the pendulum swinging. Nothing worked. Efforts to find a clock repair person were unsuccessful and it was just recently that I got a name from someone who knows someone who thought he might know a person who fixes mechanical time pieces.

For two years, the clock has sat silent upon Grandma Reinhardt's hutch. Every now and then I'd flick the pendulum in an attempt to restart the thing. Each time, it ticked for a minute, maybe two, then would fall silent.

I was walking through the dining room the day before yesterday when I looked up at the clock. I'm not sure what attracted me to it that particular time. I walk past multiple times each day. 

Sitting nearby was one of Sargie's many porcelain angels. Anyone who visits Pentoga Road has, no doubt, noticed we have angels, lots and lots of angels, each looking down on us, giving their blessings to our every day life.



The angel looked at me. I looked at the angel. I looked at the clock, then again at the angel and said, "Mom's coming for Christmas. Dad made the clock and it sure would be nice if you could lend a hand in making it work again." 

And with that, I set the hands, flicked the pendulum, and walked away.

It was the hourly chime that drew my attention. I walked through the house and stood staring at the clock, waiting for the nearest quarter hour. Sure enough, it chimed and has regularly since.

There's little doubt in my mind that there are angels who watch over us, porcelain or otherwise. When one says such a thing, there are those who laugh, still others who want to recite Scripture and talk of graven images. 

Then there are those of us who simply know. I'm not sure, exactly, what it is we know, but it's a deep knowledge that we're never alone and if one believes, there's a goodness and love from One who is higher that surrounds us all the time. I think the angels are simply an extension of His love.

But I'm not here to pontificate. Believe me, I'm no preacher nor do I pretend to have any knowledge of such. I don't even like to go to church. All I know is that later on today, Mom will arrive on the noon flight to be with us for the holidays. 

Dad is already in the house. I hear him once every fifteen minutes and each hour on the hour.



Sargie had both of us picking them up and putting them down on Sunday. We cleaned, she wrapped presents, did the laundry, and we even shortened our usual Sunday drive. 

Wild turkeys in the neighbor's yard

Still, Sargie and I found time to occasionally dance to a Christmas song blaring over the stereo and once, even attempted a synchronized dance move to a song from Grease. In the end, we laughed and went about our work.

Yes, naive am I!
Playing around, singing with the Sound of Music "sing along."

I took a break during the afternoon to put Brutus through his workout. It was evident he didn't want to be leashed. By the time we were done with our two-mile stroll, he was limping and dragging along with his head down. One would have thought the poor pooch was on his last legs.

We arrived at the drive where I put him through his final commands. His ears perked up and he flew through each with enthusiasm. I praised him, petted his little bulldog head, and set him free. 

Brutus looked up at me, wagged his tail, barked three or four times, and completely forgetting to limp, ran off in search of his ball. Fool me once, shame on you... he won't be fooling me twice.



Yooper Brother Mark and I coached the Packers to victory yesterday afternoon via text messages back and forth. It was ugly, horribly ugly, but a win is a win. We've made the playoffs and now we hope to seal the conference championship in the next two weeks.

News from Andy is that they took Ivy and Mama home yesterday. Now the real work/joy/sleepless nights begin for the young family.

Sargie opens today at the Vision Center. I'm going to walk my three miles then come home and do the last minute honey-do jobs Sargie has suggested before I head out for Iron Mountain. Mom is due in on the noon flight.

From there on, anything goes. With Mom's arrival, our Christmas season will officially begin. Sargie is off from Wednesday through Friday, so there'll be no lack of talking, laughing, and loving on Pentoga Road.

Meanwhile, I'm going to grab a cup of coffee and pause long enough to wind the clock on my way back to the living room.

After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...