A clock. I realized the other day that I am surrounded by time-telling devices. For someone who no longer has to get up at 6:24 (I never gave up one minute of sleep voluntarily) to make it to work in time for the college president’s first phone call, I have less need of keeping precise time than ever in my past. So why do I have clocks next to my bed and on my desk, in addition to a watch, a computer clock, an iPhone clock, two kitchen clocks, a coffee maker clock, a fax clock readout, a car clock, and a couple others I only remember around the start and end of Daylight Saving Time? And, why am I 15 minutes late for everything?

CD by a heavy metal band. There may have been a moment, or a song, or a party that made heavy metal seem possible. But it passed so quickly that I have no memory of it, only a case of tinnitus that adds a hissing sound to the music I do like. Yes, I’m too old for heavy metal anyway, but I thought I’d mention it in case anyone close to me was overtaken by panic about what to buy me for Christmas.

Diamonds. It’s funny, really. I’ve never liked the icy rocks enough to covet them, maybe because I so rarely admire the way they’re set. (In a crown, yes.) I had a couple once, but they were stolen in a house burglary and I didn’t miss them enough to shop around for replacements. I’d much rather have another trip to Hong Kong, Bali, or France. For me, experiences and the memories of them add plenty of sparkle.

Perfume attached to a celebrity’s name. No, no, no. I have a bit of a nose, and perfume and its origins fascinate me. My big treat to myself last year was buying a half dozen tiny bottles from a master’s atelier in Italy, and I devour knowledgeable articles on new and vintage perfumes that ring with individuality and allure. It’s not that good perfume isn’t available, it’s that it doesn’t need to be marketed with images of Elizabeth Taylor or Paris Hilton.

Another cat. I say this because at this very moment two kitties are meowing plaintively at me, stopping only to hiss at each other. They’re like siblings:

“She hit me!”

“I did not.”

“She started it.”

“Make her stop.”

“I’m thirsty.”

Between cleaning the litter box, picking up countless cat toys, filling the kibble bowls, and sending them to their separate rooms 10 times a day, getting up at 6:24 and out of the house by 7 isn’t looking so bad.

 

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