Dreams really do come true. Keep dreaming!
A week ago yesterday in the wee hours of the morning somewhere around 5:30 am, I was sitting in the same exact spot as I am today. The only thing keeping me company in the quiet of my studio was the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock.
It’s easy for me to spend hours in this special creative space of mine. Next to my bedroom, it’s my other favorite room in the house. As is my normal Saturday morning routine, I was wearing comfortable pajamas and slippers, and was in no hurry to go anywhere.
I spent some time playing catch-up in my journal.
I read several devotionals.
I gave thanks.
I found the right complimentary stamp to go with the cards I’d written.
The clocked ticked…
I did more journaling.
I made and sipped a cup of creamy coffee from a favorite Tiffany-blue hand-me-down mug from my daughter.
I wrote a sassy good morning text to my baby sister, adding a rooster emoji and a heart.
I attempted to decipher and make sense of all the different colored post-its and scribbled notes I’d written to myself throughout the week.
I sifted through paperwork – some of it fun; some of it not so much.
I reread and recycled some mail.
I saved some interesting textured envelopes for a future art project.
I organized and reclaimed my desk space.
I sorted my container of postage stamps.
The clock ticked…
I made a second cup of coffee.
I rearranged more of my creative space.
I discovered some reminders I’d forgotten.
I realized I’d missed a deadline for an artistic competition.
I made notes for a couple future blog posts and stories.
The clock ticked…
I half glanced at my wall clock and saw 9:00 o’clock.
I filled the jug kettle with water and turned it on to boil.
I stripped my bed sheets and carried them downstairs to my laundry room.
I put a load of towels in the dryer and the sheets in the washer.
I got a batch of steel-cut Irish oatmeal simmering on the stove using the boiled water from the jug kettle which speeded up the process.
I set the Pampered Chef refrigerator timer for 9 minutes and 57 seconds.
I headed back to my studio.
With sunshine peeking through the window blinds, I soaked up the cozy quiet of my home while a blistery wind played havoc with the barely budding backyard shrubs. The swaying bush nearest to the house kept scratching the window to get my attention.
More than once I thanked God for the incredible gift of Saturday at home.
I grabbed my gratitude journal and recorded a few more thanks.
I went into the kitchen and stirred the oatmeal.
I loaded the dishwasher.
I returned to my studio and methodically sifted through more paperwork. I have a lot of paperwork.
I wrote out two sympathy cards.
I said a prayer for the future recipients of the cards and also for their families.
The oatmeal timer interrupted my thoughts and beckoned me to the kitchen.
I stirred the oatmeal once more before setting the hot metal pot onto a potholder on the kitchen counter to cool and finish setting.
I once again returned to my studio.
The clock ticked…
I quickly glanced at the clock and saw it was 10:00 o’clock.
I marveled at the speed of time and how it truly waits for no man or woman.
I wrote out my to-do list for the day and then one for the week ahead.
I disarmed my alarm system and tucked the cards I’d written behind my porch mailbox.
I reset the alarm.
The dryer buzzed and I went downstairs to retrieve the soft fluffy laundry.
I carefully climbed the stairs with my arms full to overflowing.
I folded and put away the still warm towels.
I made myself a bowl of oatmeal, adding cinnamon, brown sugar, and skim milk.
I savored my studio breakfast, appreciating the well-used red bowl and the spoon that had once been my daughter’s favorite.
I sent my daughter a Happy Saturday text with a few added emojis to seal the deal.
The clock ticked…
I grabbed my work laptop and unpacked it, pulling out a myriad of papers with handwritten notes and a folder containing some personal papers, printed out emails, and other random calendaring stuff.
I changed purses.
I spent a few minutes organizing some of my art supplies.
I ignored all the household chores that called my name. They do that sometimes. It’s so rude.
I checked Facebook and posted happy candle blowing wishes to my niece and godchild.
I read a few newsfeed posts and succumbed to watching a few videos too.
I checked the email on my phone.
I checked my Fitbit statistics on my phone.
I checked the weather on my phone.
I plugged my phone in to charge.
I took my now empty cereal bowl and favorite mug to the kitchen and started the dishwasher.
Another glance at my studio clock let me know the time was 12 minutes before 12:00 o’clock.
My morning had flown by.
The dryer buzzed.
I headed downstairs and gathered my freshly laundered flannel sheets.
I headed back upstairs and made my bed.
I brushed my teeth.
I washed my face and moisturized.
I cleaned the bathroom.
The clock ticked…
I explored my kitchen for something else to nibble on.
I settled on water.
I took my vitamins.
I applied Band-Aids to my two sore thumbs.
I walked into my studio and looked at the wall clock.
I stopped and actually looked at it this time.
It was 12 minutes to 12:00 o’clock…again. Or was it still? What the heck?
I stood there in the middle of the floor looking at the clock, as my brain replayed all the morning time checks.
Obviously, the battery had died or more precisely was dying.
I wondered how long it had been stuck at 12 minutes to 12:00 o’clock.
I’m no rocket scientist, but I knew the event had happened at 12 minutes to 12:00 o’clock – only when?
I start each morning in my studio and I hadn’t noticed it the morning before, so I knew the hands had stopped their round the clock vigil either at noon the previous day or moments prior to midnight the night before.
My clock has a second hand, which as I watched was trembling or jerking as it hovered over the number 9. While the hour hand was straight up pointing to the 12, the minute hand had stopped at 12 minutes before the hour. This explained how my first quick glance had seen the second hand and mistook it for 9:00. The next time I checked my mind had registered the minute hand as 10:00, and later I saw (kind of) the time for what it really was.
I laughed out loud as I considered how time had appeared to stand still, stuck on what I immediately considered as Cinderella time. I wondered if there was a gentle nudge or message I was supposed to be getting from the universe today. Or was it just the simple fact that my clock needed a new battery?
I thought of all kinds of things… one was the persistence of time. How the tenacious little second hand, even with limited battery power, still wanted to move, even though it stayed in the same place. I’m like that some days too.
You may be wondering, what the actual time was when I noticed my clock battery was on the end of its life? It was only a few minutes before 10:30.
You may also be wondering if I’ve replaced the battery yet. Or maybe like most sane action-taking people you made an assumption that I did it as soon as I noticed it and the clock is back to displaying the correct time. So true confession here, I haven’t changed the battery yet. I know.
Every morning this week when I looked at the clock to get a time check before work, I would see the crazy 12 minutes to 12 time and it would almost make me giggle. I’d leave the studio to begin my work preparations and replacing the battery simply left my mind, until I would be sitting in my studio the next morning. And more than once I thought it was like I was giving Cinderella time for one more dance. In fact, it even inspired me to jot down a few plot ideas for a new version of that fairy tale. Stay tuned.
Maybe today will be the day I replace the battery. But then again, maybe just maybe this is the pause button on life I’ve been wishing to press for years. I realize just because my clock says so, time is not standing still. But if it were truly possible to press pause on just one of your life moments, either past, present, or future – what time would you pick? I can think of dozens of moments I’d want to stop the clock for to be truly present to that moment. Oh to take in the people, the sights, the sounds, the smells, the colors, the feelings, to weigh my words before speaking them, and to hold onto every single precious detail and moment. Now wouldn’t that be something. Now isn’t that how we should always live our moments?
Who knew a low clock battery could spark a blog essay?
The clock is ticking… only it still says 11:48.
Okay. Okay. I’m going to go grab a battery from my closet stash. Unless I forget about it when I leave the room. Wish me luck.