The Old Clock

Grandma Stella reflects on her cherished old clock, a silent witness to her life’s journey, including her family’s move from Iran and the passage of time. She connects the clock’s steady rhythm to the changing seasons and the cycle of life, finding peace in its constant presence.

The house is silent. The old clock in the hallway is steadily swinging back and forth. Tic toc, tic toc, like a little swing in a child’s garden it sways back and forth, back and forth, never ceasing its movement. It is an old friend and companion to me! It has shared many things in my life. It witnessed part of my childhood, my young motherhood; it has witnessed our upheaval from Iran to here. It traveled across continents and was forgotten in a forty-foot container for many months in the bottom of a San Francisco warehouse lot, along with the rest of my parents’ and my household goods. A year after we arrived, they found the container with all the property we had shipped when we left our country. We had imagined that they were lost, just as we had lost our homes and our old way of life. Imagine our delight when they were found. Now as I look out to the garden, a single brave pink rose leans forward to greet me. It sways in the autumn breeze. The crimson and golden foliage bravely hang onto the tree branches, reluctant to say goodbye. Some of their siblings have already drifted down upon the grass and have made a soft bed for the rest to lie down on. It’s a late Sunday morning. The world outside is peaceful and still. And my old clock goes tic toc, tic toc… And time steadily marches by with a tic and a toc, a toc and a tic, season after season, year after year. It bids farewell to some of us and bids a hearty welcome to new arrivals. And the autumn leaves steadily drift to the ground. Tic toc, tic toc…