The Watchmaker (a poem of my Father in Law)

lilosophieJanuary 23, 2013

The Watchmaker

Coiled springs,
Tiny wheels and gears
Fastened with miniscule screws
All ticking away in harmony

The watchmaker
Time obsessed
An occupation
A business
A delicate skill

Time his life
Dominates the days
The hours
The minutes

Being late: a cardinal sin
Being early an offense
"hurry up" a mantra

He was late for his own funeral

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Sometimes I wonder why I'm as obsessed with time as I am. Being retired and having few places that I have to be or go unless I want to, what difference does it make? However, usually DH and I are early in whatever we do--from bedtime to wake-up time to meal times to meetings or appointments. We'd rather be early than late.

Lilo, your poem says to me that your FIL was a dedicated, detail-oriented person, perhaps impatient with others' lack of attention to small things in life? (If I'm completely off-base, I surely didn't mean to offend.)

    Bookmark   January 23, 2013 at 5:55PM
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mwheel, you are completely correct, he could be obnoxious and very opinionated

    Bookmark   January 23, 2013 at 7:36PM
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If I want a watch repaired, I'd want a person just like in the poem. If I want a Father in Law, I'd go for a cuddly teddy bear, lol, family is family.
Somewhere in between the two, is a watch repair shop in a small space in a national chain. Friendly expertize.

Here is a link that might be useful: Watch repair, Silicon Valley style.

    Bookmark   January 23, 2013 at 8:22PM
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WG, there is a watch repair shop in Willits 22 miles south of here, they do fix the old mechanical watches, no batteries. Swiss trained and certified. I have an old Longene (sp) gold/diamond watch, it needs oiling and cleaning, and they are qualified, I just don't know if it is worth it.

    Bookmark   January 23, 2013 at 10:47PM
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I seem to have a penchant for small parts of just about anything so have drawers full of such stuff. Funny thing is I can tell you what most of the small odd parts fit or came from. Great descriptive poem Lilo, memories of certain things seem to reach out at times and beg for a place in our now.

    Bookmark   January 24, 2013 at 11:19AM
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Your poem reminded me of a great-uncle who also was a watchmaker. The intrusion by a little girl with a lot of questions was not exactly what he looked for.

    Bookmark   January 25, 2013 at 8:52AM
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