Westminster Chimes

The clock just struck two. Two a. m. in the morning. Bing-bong, bing-booong, bing-bong, bing-booooong. The Westminster Chime emits from my clock. I love that sound. It reminds me of being a small girl again on an overnight to my Grandma Sieg's house.

The clock she had was not electric chimes. It played the actual chimes, so beautiful and the entire song as well. On the hour. On the quarter hour. On the half hour. On the quarter til hour. And then, it would mark the how many hours had passed since I last heard it.

When I slept there, my mother would complain about it because it would wake her up. Not me though. I loved that it woke me up. I would be asleep on her orange and black floral covered couch. The smell of cigarette smoke would have faded, as well as the supper smells. The street lights would glow softly through her bay window. Occasionally, I would hear the bar refrigerator kick on and hum softly. Have to keep that PBR cold.

I miss that woman something terrible. She was EVERYTHING. She held the family together--insisted on family gatherings. Insisted on spending time with us. Insisted on the ties that bind.

Now, those ties have come undone and are frayed in sections. Some will never come together again. Some have a chance.

I think as long as the Westminster Chimes play--the ties that bind will always exist. You need to look up the sound and listen to it with your eyes closed. Try it.