There was a grandfather clock that sat in the corner of my parents’ home for as far back as I could remember. As a child, the clock seemed enormous to me – seeming to reach almost to the ceiling. Its carved hood resembled eyebrows; its illustration beneath it shining like eyes. It did not frighten me; in fact, at night as I lay in bed I listened for its chime – the chime I heard on many Christmas Eves as I waited for Santa, the chime I heard the night before school began each fall, the chime I even heard the night before my wedding.

Such is the way with grandfather clocks – as they become something more than just a way to tell time in your home; something far greater than a piece of furniture that takes up space. Anyone who has ever owned a grandfather clock – or had one in their home as they were growing up – will attest to the fact that the grandfather clock is a part of the family; something that is always solid, always there; a piece of home no matter where you move.

In fact, when my parents moved from their home after twenty-five years and we diligently boxed up all their belongings only to unpack them in their new home, it was not until the grandfather clock arrived and we heard it chime for the first time that everything felt okay. That melody meant we were home – no matter how unfamiliar the four walls around us felt at the time.