Tick-Tock

Earlier this evening as I stood in the kitchen I heard a strange sound, steady beat, rhythmic even, and at first had a heck of a time tracing its source. I finally tracked this strangeness to our living room.

We have on the fireplace mantle an old clock, a wedding gift from a relative some thirty odd years ago. Its a Sessions, manufactured early in the twentieth century. Nice old piece, and here's the strange part...it hasn't hit a lick in over thirty years. Hasn't been cleaned nor oiled properly since the day it came into our lives. We'd thought the old girl was just flat-assed broke.

Until late last evening when out of nowhere it began to tick-tock all on its own. 

Yelled for the wife. She freaked, "Why is it working?"

"It's a sign from God."

She didn't like my answer and instead said, "What did you do to it?" I made a few of those spooky noises, then, "Nothing. It's the end times."

She went to bed.

I'm still wide awake. The old clock just chimed 0300. Perhaps I should say a little prayer. Couldn't hurt.

This is indeed spooky stuff.

(Insert Boris Karloff movie soundtrack here.)

*****

Yesterday was her birthday. She's twenty-two. Still cute as a button.

After Sunday services she requested a day in St. Augustine. We arrived and duly paid our ten dollar parking ripoff tax fee and strolled the ancient city.

Since she hadn't eaten all day we hit a local tourist trap for lunch. Took almost three hours...serious here, three hours. Back outside we find severe thunderstorms. Hard rain. Ducked into a store. Rain continues. We wait.

Still, she smiles. Said she was happy. Rain slacks a bit. We hit a coffee shop to wait, and I of course, over indulge with a pecan sticky roll and a mug of java. Outside a lightning strike fries a tourist into ashes. Heavy rain spoils another visitors hundred dollar cigar and the ponies refuse to pull the sunburned down the cobble stoned streets. I just smiled and sipped my coffee.

She took my hand and set a course towards that ten dollar parking spot.

Anyway, it was a nice ride.

I strive to please.

*****

Took me a year but I've finally found the proper cross draw sheath for my favorite knife. A friggin year. The knife was gifted to me by herself upon our last anniversary - a custom hand forged piece and I love it. Anyway, it came with a junky plastic black bit of stuff disguised as a sheath which I promptly discarded.

I like a cross-draw. Wear it slapdap in the middle of my back, right-handed. It too is custom from a nice husband/wife team out of Cajun country. If I had their names (info is at work) I'd give credit. Nice leather, proper fit.

It's the little things,

which create the faintest of smiles.

Stephen