His Father's Jewelry Box

It was a day where the weather pitched pretty much everything it had at us. It snowed a while, it sleeted a while, and then it iced and freezing rained. We didn't have any reasons why we had to go out, so we stayed in and enjoyed a day at home amid the storm.

If you have a house (and maybe even if you don't!) there is always plenty to do indoors. We did laundry. I digitized even MORE CDs. We cooked. I washed dishes. My husband did some cleaning and organizing, and he ended up going through some family things.

My husband's father, a World War II Navy veteran, passed away at the age of 82, back in December of 2010. When his dad died, my husband was given many of his possessions, including some jewelry.

None of it was anything of great value. Mostly tie tacks and watches and rings that are way too small for my husband to wear. How could his dad - who seemed like a normal sized guy - have had such tiny fingers?

His father was big on time, and being ON time, or even being WAY EARLY. I remember when we all went to his dad's high school reunion at the Johnstown War Memorial a few years before he passed. We ended up there TWO full hours early. Yes, being on time, or better yet, early, meant a lot to the man.

The collection of watches - most of them do not run now, and won't ever again - they show his commitment to the importance of time. Time, slipping through our fingers, no matter how much we watch it, keep it, or chase it.

The jewelry box in my husband's hands, full of his father's time.

Hours. Minutes. Seconds.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

There are two songs for this posting. One is an old favorite: Jim Croce, with Time in a Bottle. The second is the Bangles, singing Time time time, look what's become of me: Hazy Shade of Winter.