It’s important to get the right analog clock, of course. I had one that made a relentless clicking sound, forcing me to wear earplugs for years. Eventually I bought another at a garage sale, a squarish thing from the 1960s with one broken leg, a beauty, but it buzzed 24 hours a day. Next I bought one on Etsy made of repurposed iron. The hands got tangled, and the minute dragged the hour with it in a wrenching existential battle.
At last, this year I got one at a drugstore: $5, a couple of simple hands. No funny business. It’s perfect. Silent, rolling. So small I can fit it in my palm. An everyperson’s clock. If it’s anything like the clocks of my youth, it will outlive the cockroaches.
Deb Olin Unferth
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