Real Reality

Reality is becoming unreal. We humans have enhanced our capacity for tech toys to the point that nothing is private, nothing is not calculable, nothing is not collectible, and beyond. To say that it's bad or good isn't helpful when computers, we are told, can think. But what does "think" mean? It's true that computers can collect, rather quickly, information from all kinds of sources and calculate outcomes, predict possibilities and store data for use at a time convenient to whomever wants to use it or for whatever purpose. There is something that computers can't do. They can't feel and it is unlikely they ever will be able to, but I hedge on that prediction also, because I won't be around long enough to test the theory. Something that is real, is my grandfather clock. It's a tall piece of wood that is showing its age. After all, it was fashioned in 1836. It ticks away with the same old pendulum, wires, metal bits and lead weights. It's not one of the pretty kind, all shiny and with brass-like curlicues and delicate carvings. The weights are large and rough and misshapen. Mr. Charles Leadbeater who made the clock beside his brother Thomas, didn't care much for beauty. He thought only about reliability and, indeed, he produced a product that has survived crossing the Atlantic, living in family homes from damp old England to damp young British Columbia-by-the-sea and ticking faithfully for all those generations. He has scars. Bits of veneer, that were so artfully inset, loosened with central heating and the rigors of time, and sometimes fell out during various moves by his family. They were glued back in badly. There are holes inside where one of the clan, decided to  hang tools in the case. Who would see them and they were so handy to find inside "grandfather". There are missing bits that are long forgiven and forgotten. The shiny brass globes that graced each side at the top and the tallest stand, are only faded memories to be found in photographs of Roselynn's parlour, the clock's first home in Cheshire, UK. But recently after a long respite, the phases of the moon and the days of the month, are back in service. The price to repair and adjust without replacing any part of the mechanism, was more than the whole clock would be worth on the antique market. It matters not the cost; no one in the family will ever sell it for any price. Once in my memory, a talented family gentleman, took all the metal bits apart and laid them on the dining room table, where they stayed for months while he tenderly cleaned each one, keeping note of how to reassemble all of them eventually. Not even our Siamese cat and her insatiable curiosity disturbed the array of old metal on the table's shiny surface. Thanksgiving dinner that year, was taken in the kitchen with respect for the past. When the power is off, the clock ticks on and accurately. Only during the changes for Daylight Saving to Standard Time, is an adjustment made but only by stilling the pendulum for the hour or a day, perhaps cautiously turning the hands. The old key has been lost, but  another was found far away and arrived by post. Ironically, it was bought with the help of my computer, on line. Like the ornate hands of my grandfather clock, with its comforting tick and the tweaking an old saying, what comes around, goes around.