We’ve spent an extraordinary day in sunny London, music lessons, art museums, restaurants. Most days we don’t live by the clock, but on such a busy day when we need to meet people, catch trains, make reservations, I like to wear my wristwatch.
The watch belonged to my maternal grandmother. It’s a petite little thing, a wind-up Tissot. I adore winding it up and setting the time. So do my children, I have to get them to take turns. I know the battery is a useful thing, but I find the ritual winding of the watch ever so gratifying, in great contrast to the annoyance of a dead battery. The scratches and cracks make it all the more dear to me, like writing across it. I took it to see a wonderful clockworks in Crouch End, and the lovely fellow there gave it a new strap and sent us on our way. I’m so glad there are mechanical things like this old fashioned wristwatch that last and last. Especially when I’ve used my phone for texts, maps, videos, photographs, train schedules, emails, websites, and telephone calls, until it has expired for the day. As I’m about to, myself.