A generation of grand-children grew up with that clock. Toddlers would run to the family room where it hung and wait for the door to open and the bird to cuckoo. When a child was sad or cranky, the cuckoo clock would cheer him up.
When my mother was losing her memory to Alzheimer’s she still remembered to wind the clock. I think routine is the last thing the disease steals from its victim. Years ago, the clock followed mom to an assisted living home and finally to an Alzheimer’s ward of a nursing home. Whenever I visited my mom which was not often enough, I seldom went to her room. I completely forgot about the clock.
My mother passed away last year. My brother gave me the clock which I had all but forgotten about. It now hangs in our dining room. A new generation of grand-children will run to hear the clock. A new generation will be soothed or cheered by a funny little bird and a silly cuckoo sound.
I wind the clock every night. It is my new routine. I never pull up those weights without thinking of my mom. It is amazing how a silly thirty dollar clock could bring so much joy to an old lady, a score of grand-children and now brings back pleasant memories everyday to an old man; memories of my mom and memories of smiling happy children.
That silly little bird brings memories every day, just like clockwork.