Of Time and Memories

“Time is the only currency you can spend without ever knowing your balance. Use it wisely.” Unk.

I have six pocket watches: two modern battery-powered and four mechanically wound. On the first of every month, I place them on my desk, and wind the mechanical ones. I hold each one tight to my ear in their turn and listen, as their inner gears spin and click. Each of my watches has a unique voice and each one carries its own story. Let me introduce you to three of them.

Waltham

Voice: Two clicks per second. There is a noise, a dragging sound, in the background suggesting tiredness. Still keeps accurate time, though. Reminds me of how my knees feel after a long hike.

My family moved in with my maternal grandfather in the early 60s. Ten years later he passed away leaving very few personal items. What items he did have were placed in a couple paper grocery bags and tucked into a dark corner of our linen closet. One day when I was getting a bath towel, I discovered the bags and opened them. Three of the items that caught my eye were his pocket watches. I wound each stem, but only one of them, the Waltham, started ticking.

I carried the Waltham in my pocket, securely tied with a rawhide strap to my belt, through junior high and high school. More often than not, I walked to the top of the hill near my house and stood at the highest cow field where I’d watch the sun set. With a Poor Richard’s Almanac in hand which contained the daily sunset and sunrise tables, I’d set my Waltham pocket watch to the minute the sun dipped below the horizon. To those in the know and who are reading this, I know this method of watch-setting is not accurate unless one is standing on the eastern line of a time zone. At that time in my life, I did not know this. But it was a fun thing to do, got me outside, and kept me thinking of (and missing) my grandfather.

Princeton

Voice: Two clicks per second. Sounds strong, confident, and young.

In the spring of 1979, my parents asked me what I wanted for a high school graduation gift. I was surprised at this request as graduating from high school wasn’t a big deal for me. While I didn’t particularly care for high school, I didn’t dislike it either. So, I told my parents that I didn’t want anything, and if they insisted on a gift, to take me out to eat at a nice restaurant (we went to the William Paul House in Holden).

There, in the restaurant, they gave me the Princeton pocket watch (so I wouldn’t have to carry around that old thing - referring to the Waltham by my mother). It has seventeen jewels (watch code for ruby bearings inside), an image of a train on the front and an etched image of a train on the back, harkening to the glory days of train travel. While the card was signed by both my mother and my father, the gift was clearly from my father.

Dad was a train aficionado. Since his youth, he had an HO gauge model railroad set up. Family lore tells us that my parents’ first real major marital fight was on their honeymoon to Washington D.C. My father, the driver, stopped at every freight yard on their way to D.C. to watch and photograph freight trains and their diesel engines while my mother sat in the car stewing about it.

His eternally unfinished HO gauge set-up took up half our cellar where he’d spend hours every week, until his death, redesigning his own model scale freight yards and tinkering with model diesel train engines. Any time we travelled in the family car and passed a train track with a train on it, we’d have to stop to watch.

Sometimes I thought he envisioned himself as a nineteenth century train baron, often buying a few railroad stocks here and there, therefore becoming “part-owner” of multiple train companies.

Today, I carry the Princeton in my pocket between his birthday and mine, a separation of two days, and on his death anniversary.

Elgin with initials CHM

Voice: High-pitched, two clicks per second. Reminds me of a mouse scampering along the edges of a room, anxious-like.

I’m not into voodoo stuff or cosmic mind games, but this one has me thinking…

Of the pocket watches in that paper grocery bag in the linen closet so many years ago, there were two Elgin watches I estimate to be about 100 years old now. The one I will be referring to has my grandfather’s initials on the back: CHM (Charles Henry Meloche).

This watch has never worked since I found it, from back in the 60s until last year. Occasionally, during that time, I’d take out the watches just to look at them and wonder. Then last year as I was sitting on the couch, listening to some music, and looking at my small collection of watches, I held the Elgin/CHM and thought of my grandfather. After more than 55 years, I still miss him. Tick, tick, tick… the watch started. It was not working when I picked it up. No shaking - just gentle handling - and it started ticking the moment I thought of him. Weird. Really wicked weird. Like really wicked awesome weird.

These are just a few of the stories I carry in my pocket, that in some way reminds me of times past, reminds me to make memories today, and reminds me that the generous amount of time in my past does not reflect how much time I may have in the future.