Clock Phobia

I am Afraid of Clocks.

Maybe it is because I missed the second grade class when Mrs. Weinberg taught us how to tell time.

I was an asthmatic kid who could be “absent” for days and happened to be home listening to Stella Dallas on the radio (anyone remember that soap?).

Who knew those few stolen days would be the cause of a lifelong handicap?

Anyway, when I did return to school, Mrs. M gave a private lesson which went like this, “It’s easy.  Just count 5, 10, 15, 20 minutes around the clock.”

And no, I had not yet heard the lyrics to Rock Around the Clock yet.  Elvis may not have even been born!

And from then on, when the big hand made it to the left side, I could not tell you what time it was.

Still can’t.

I tend to simply hold up my wristwatch to strangers who ask, “Pardon me, do you have the time?”

A Clock Allergy?

I think there is something wrong with my blood flow or energy fields.  Inevitably the watch on my wrist winds up (pun intended) to be about 10 minutes fast.  That’s as the big hand goes “5, 10, 15, 20.”

Rushing through life is what I call it.  Think of all the time lost with just those regular ten minute skipped intervals.

And of course, Setting Clocks is a Challenge.

We just had a very brief power outage – enough to make all the timepieces in the house flash in outrage.

The kitchen stove clock is important for making dinners so I inhaled deeply and poked and pushed buttons until there was a positive response.

Hopefully I did not set off the “self clean” option instead.  It’s  always guess work with no guarantees.

The bedroom clock on the dresser isn’t too hard but continues it’s yearly flashing warning “low battery.”  I never listen since that clock is permanently plugged into the wall and the dresser is too heavy to pull it out far enough from the plug.

The bedroom clock on the dresser has been low batteried since 1998.

There is another bedroom clock that flashes on the ceiling and tells how cold it is outside too.  It is the only clock in the house that resets itself except for the battery operated one in the living room that is eternally dependable.

Maybe getting rid of all but the latter two would be the sane thing to do.

Unless you know of a second grade class teacher who would allow a senior citizen to audit the segment on telling time?

Time Changes are Annoying.

The car clock is the MOST intimidating and takes immense courage for me to go at it.  Somehow it gets done (husbands help) but for now I would rather count out loud.

Let’s see….. it’s 10:15 AM on the dashboard, which means it’s really 11:15 AM now because it was 10:15 AM before the time change.

Who needs to change settings anyway?

Good thing the car clock is digital or I would have to be counting,“Five, Ten, Fifteen, Twenty” and if the big hand is in the wrong place you would never get the right time.

Advertisement

Read Full Post »

Like Clockwork

 

It started with Bill’s cold and nagging cough.

To avoid germs and assure peaceful slumber, I moved to the guest room.

 I woke up at 9:00 that morning thinking, “Wow, it’s really late and I NEVER wake up at 9AM.  There must be something wrong with me.”

I even wrote the whole event down in a journal to take to the doctor at checkup time.

A day or so later (while still languishing in solitary confinement) I woke up at a more acceptable 8AM.

Regaining consciousness is sometimes a bit of a feat but I managed to glance at the clock and thought,

“Why do I not hear Bill in the kitchen?”

To further explain this you need to know Bill is a man you can tell time by. 

Example: He used to take GI showers (rinse, turn off water, lather, rinse). 

One day Son called and asked to talk to his Dad.

“He’s in the shower,” I said.  “Oh,” said Son, “Is he on the first or second wash?” 

You get the idea right?  We can tell where Bill is at any given moment.

And he is normally in the kitchen at 7:15 AM SHARP making his own breakfast.

I studiously avoid Bill in the kitchen because I tend to give him morning sickness.

Lest you judge my wifely aptitude, I used to make his breakfast but he could never eat it because he said he felt sick. 

One day I didn’t wake up in time and he made his own breakfast and felt fine. 

He determined I made him ill and has made his own breakfast ever since.  

Anyway, on this particular morning from my place of solitary confinement in the spare bedroom, I was listening for Bill in the kitchen.

He is usually promptly there puttering at 7:15 AM.  The clock said 8:00 AM and there was utter silence!

I struggled to fully wake and kept looking at that clock.  Waiting.  Waiting.  8:10AM.  8:11AM.  Where was Bill?

And I had a panicky thought.  “Maybe he is dead.  What should I do?

Should I take a mirror in to test his breath?  No, I will wait a little longer.”

At 8:15, I became overwrought so staggered into the master bedroom.

Sure enough, Bill was there but he turned and looked up slightly blinded when I put the light on.

“What’s wrong???” he groaned.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Yes,” said he. “Why?”

“It’s 8:15,” I said.

“No, it’s only 7:00 AM!  Go back to sleep.”

And so it was that the clock in the guest room was wrong.

It was wrong the day I thought I slept until 9AM and it was wrong the day I thought I lost Bill.

Although there was after all, a happy ending, I am furious and have further lost faith in anything electronic or digital.

I am convinced we need to regress to simpler times for wind up clocks with numbers that do not light up.

A horse and carriage would be nice too.

Read Full Post »