My November passed in a blur of time. One of those intensely busy periods when every moment is heightened, yet once it quiets, there is nothing but a blur of memories and emotions to untangle. There are snippets that standout, like a conversation sparked by a pocket watch…
For most of this month, I’ve efficiently skipped from one task to the next. Functioning in survival mode. The election fallout kicked it off. Followed by a busy stretch of extra yoga classes and workshops, interspersed with medical tests (all fine). Before I could catch my breath, a family emergency sent me on an unplanned trip to take care of my dad (who is now recovering well). And then there was the rush of Thanksgiving prep and visiting family.
During the visit to my dad, we started talking about my great-grandfather’s pocket watch. The piece now lives with me, as Peter loves watches and I’ve always loved this particular watch.
Albert Eckfeld, Chief Dispatcher, Norfolk and Western Railway
Multiple generations of my father’s family worked for the Norkfolk and Western Railway, as did my dad while putting himself through college. My great-grandfather, Albert Eckfeld, retired as Chief Dispatcher, having worked with the railroad from 1896 to 1941. While his Elgin railroad-grade pocket watch may have more sentimental than monetary value, I love keeping this piece of family history.
After returning from my visit, my dad and I again talked about the pocket watch during a phone call. He remembered there being a crack in the face, but the frozen hands were making it hard to see. I tried to move the hands by pulling up the stem… no luck.
I carefully wound the watch and happily listened as it began ticking away the time. The minute hand crept around the face, which has numbered minutes for precise timekeeping. And I opened the back to see the gears whir and click. I snapped pics as I went, sending them to my dad while we talked.
Unlocking the Hands of Time
During our call, my dad remembered that there was a lever that needed to be unlocked to set the time. He talked me through removing the front bezel and finding the small lever tucked into the face near the 6-minute mark. With a bit of careful work, I coaxed the lever up and was then able to use the stem to reset the time.
A later web search taught me that railroad-grade watches had certain requirements, including being “lever set” to adjust the time. It was all part of ensuring the precision of time-keeping that we now take for granted with our phones and devices regulated by GPS and atomic clocks.
As I played with the watch and continued to send pictures, our talk turned to my dad’s memories of childhood visits to the railroad. The topic wandered to other family memories. Eventually, I pulled out some old family tree papers so we could look up the places and dates of birth of relatives past. We talked about his side of the family and some of my mother’s relatives. I again marveled over the fact that, despite my growing up in Ohio, my maternal great-great-great-great-grandfather was born in 1771 barely an hour from where I now live in Virginia.
Finding Your Place in Time
While my November was a blur in time, our talk made me consider the larger picture. In the grand scheme of time, I will live for a relatively short period. Just like the people represented by all of those names on my family tree. Just like the man who used that pocket watch to regulate the trains.
There are important moments in our day to day lives. Our words and actions make a difference. Yet, in the end, we will all pass into history and the world will go on without us. What mark will we leave behind? Will people remember my books? Will they remember taking my yoga classes? What memories will my friends and family share after I’m gone?
I find it oddly comforting that even in the busiest of times, most of what I do will one day be forgotten. This blog will someday disappear. My books will molder and rot away. But hopefully, I can put more good into the world than bad. I can offset my mistakes with kindness. And occasionally, people will remember me fondly. Can we really hope for anything more?