As a child, I marveled at the sound of the Westminster Chimes from my grandmother’s mantle clock, which sat over the fireplace in my dad’s boyhood home. Knowing my fascination, she gave it to me before she died. Although still ticking, the chimes had fallen silent for quite some time.
One day my girlfriend and I were sitting in my living room, talking about my father, who’d been gone almost two years. Then, just like that, the long forgotten chimes began to ring, with no help from the audience.
My clock is singing again. Life is good.