Monday, May 04, 2009


The origins of my alarm clock are obscured by the mists of time. Its harsh and persistent call has summoned me to a day of labor for as far back as I have been responsible for rousing myself. On many a dark Vermont winter morn did my fingers, still heavy with sleep, fumble for the "off" switch. During the Houghton years it saw increased use, and endured my repeated attempts to defame its dependability and use it as a scapegoat with the silence of a well trusted confidant. "I'm sorry I'm late, my alarm didn't go off for some reason."
These days the clock rarely gets used as an alarm. My kids usually make sure I am harassed awake before the start of the day, and on those rare occasions when an alarm is called for I just use my cell phone. There is something about its faux-wood veneer, large buttons, and red digital display that I find altogether appealing though. If forced to offer a guess, I would say that it'll be another decade or so until I consider tossing this old girl into the trash.

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