The body is of wood, its design reminiscent of a Swiss chalet, with a brass pendulum and two heavy weights hanging from chains which periodically have to be raised. Their weight is what gives the clock its movement.
The face of the clock is hand-painted, with the rather sobering sermon "Hark, what's the cry, Prepare to meet thy God today." Now that I think of it, it is a little creepy. Kinda like when we teach little children the prayer "If I should die before I wake..."
This clock is especially dear to me. A little back story:
My parents were looking around an Ethan Allen store back in the 60's. It was Mom's favorite store. Ever. They both almost simultaneously saw this wall clock. Mom had pined for years for a grandfather clock but A) they are expensive and B) she had five kids.
So they spot this clock and speak briefly to the salesman on the floor. They wander off in different directions and Mom sneaks around to the salesman and says quietly "Put that clock back in and I'll pay you later." Did I mention it was close to Christmas?
Mom wanders off and pretty soon, Dad comes up to the same salesman and quietly says "Put that clock back in the back and I'll pay for it later."
What is a salesman to do? He evidently dithered about it for a minute or two, then went up to Mom and quietly told her that both of them had asked for the clock to be put back. Obviously, they didn't want two clocks that looked the same, did they? Mom quietly tells him to remove her name from the order and to not say anything to Daddy.
I imagine it would be difficult for couples as close as my folks to surprise each other with their Christmas gifts. I mean, they were practically of one mind, truly 'mind melded'. So it was something of a miracle that Daddy frequently was able to fool Mom so she had no idea what her gift from him was.
Not that Christmas. She was holding the box containing the clock in her lap and prior to opening it, she turned to Daddy and told him she knew what it was. He was totally shocked. So she told us the story that was so sweet. So deep was their love, they had both chosen to give the other the same exact same gift.
I love my clock. Except twice a year. You know, when Daylight Savings time comes and when it goes. Especially when it goes. You see, the way you 'reset' this clock involves manually turning the minute hand around the face and waiting at the half hour for a single chime, then moving it to the o'clock position and waiting for it to chime however many times it is. Nine o'clock, ten o'clock, eleven o'clock...you get my drift. If you don't take the time to wait for it to chime before moving on, the clock becomes disoriented and will chime twice at nine, eight times at four. It literally loses its mind, kinda like a somewhat-dim pet who wants to please but can't figure out what you want of it. This process can sometimes take a half hour or more, depending on if you screw it up and have to start over.
Another family story about this clock:
When we were all married and having kids and going home for Christmas, Mom made sure that every single couple had a place to sleep. She had only one extra bedroom, with Daddy's study the third bedroom. That was where grandkids slept on the floor. Her living room and family room both had sleeper sofas so they doubled as bedrooms when we were home for the holidays. Margery and Daniel frequently ended up in the living room. Where the chiming clock hung. Daniel would stop the pendulum so the clock would stop and not chime all through the night.
The following morning, Daddy would laborously reset the clock, moving it through its paces hour by hour. (Daniel was always the rebel...when he was dating Margery, and he'd bring her home for a goodnight kiss, he'd unscrew all the Christmas lights on the front porch, the better to have a little privacy.)
I guess that is why I have so many precious things. A tray I got as wedding gift from a dear professor, the blue glass collection I got from my mom, and the Clock. All having been in the family long enough to be imbued with memories. Deep in the very materials these things are constructed of, in the very atoms that form these objects, are memories.
My family's own "Gift of the Magi" story, soaked into a wooden wall clock, with weights and a pendulum.
