There’s this wall of clocks in my living room. Let me back up. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned before that Zeb and I live at his grandmother’s house. We moved in to help take care of her a little over a year ago, and now there are all kinds of other people who live there with us, but they don’t enter into the story today.
All you need to know here is that Zeb’s Gram has a wall of clocks on our living room wall. Exhibit A:
I’ve always liked it, because it feels kind of steampunk to me, and I enjoy steampunk, as a concept (although most examples of the actual literary genre are not great). Of course, it needs some cogs and skeleton keys in there, but overall, it’s pretty bad-ass, in a very specifically nerdy way that I am 100% sure was not the intention behind it at all. Up until a couple of weeks ago, none of the clocks worked, which, to me, just added to its charm.
Then, Zeb’s Gram decided they should all tell the correct time, and she started putting new batteries in them.
And it turns out that ALL OF THEM TICK. They are so loud! Every time I sit in this room now, it’s like a constant grim reminder of mortality and the passage of time. In other words, it has gone from being steampunk to goth. Now, instead of cogs, it needs a pendulum and a shelf with a stuffed raven.
At least the random gold cross among the clocks fits better with the goth theme. And it’s still delightfully nerdy, but in a very different, still specific way, that I am still 100% sure would just confuse her, if anyone pointed it out.
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