Growing up in our 1980s twin home, our country-style kitchen was decked out in wallpaper with gold metallic accents. A square, 1-foot-wide golden Seiko wall clock held court. That clock became a fixture in my life. It was the one I checked each morning while eating breakfast, trying to decide if I had time to make
another cup of tea before catching the bus to middle school. It was the clock I glanced at one last time as I left my childhood home to catch a plane to college. So when my parents told me it had stopped working and they replaced it with a new one, I immediately said, “Don’t get rid of it. I’ll get it fixed. Just bring it to Minneapolis the next time you visit.”
I went into research mode, determined to find the best repair shop in town. And along the way, I discovered I’m not the only one who has a beloved timepiece. I met people who own mantel clocks, grandfather clocks, even cuckoo clocks. Each one carries a story, a memory, a moment suspended in time. We all want
these stories to live on. We want
