"I wanna go home!"

  First off...do you ever talk to inanimate objects?  I do.  If you do, would you mind telling me if you get any replies?  Again, I do.  Maybe not so much in words or sounds but in feelings, I guess.  To me, if you really get to know an object...especially one that has been through some trauma...an odd sort of aura emanates from it and that aura speaks volumes.  At least, it "speaks" to me.  Yeah, there are those who claim that I am weird or eccentric and those are the kinder folks.  Ask others and you will get some more "elaborate" descriptions.  But, back to "talking" objects...

  About a year and a half ago, my dear friend had a most devastating event happen to her.  While she and a friend sat talking, lightning struck her house causing a huge fire.  They both managed to escape unharmed but her house was a total loss.  Only a few items were salvageable with one being a clock.  The poor clock did not go unscathed as the finish crackled and the clockworks itself was full of soot.  So...what better place to bring a clock for the duration than to the home of that weird friend who kinda/sorta fixes antique clocks.  I immediately cleaned and oiled the clock.  The outer case could not be remedied much without devaluing the worth so I simply used denatured alcohol to even some of the finish.  Now...the test...I gently swung the pendulum and the gorgeous clock started ticking!  It worked!  After all it had been through, the clock still ran smoothly! The clock has been here since.

  Several times, I moved the gorgeous clock to a different spot in my living room from my work table.  I figured it deserved a better spot.  Perhaps the buffet!  There it would be showcased as the beauty it is.  Nope, the clock immediately stopped working.  Well, perhaps on the coffee table!  That lasted just about ten minutes and no more.  Well, maybe the bookshelf!  The clock was not having it.  Nary a tick could be heard.  Out of desperation, I set it back on the center of the work table.  Tick, tick, tick...the clock did not miss a beat. So...I asked it why?  Why will you not work anywhere but this work table?  You deserve better, my friend.  Then, in soft silence other than the steady ticks came the answer.  "I wanna go home."  My heart broke.  The clock had let me know that the work table felt the closest to going back home where it belongs.  It needed to go back to the loving care of my beautiful friend.  All of the other locations, though comfortable, were not home.  The clock felt like those moves were permanent.  It needs to go home.

  So...the clock will go home...back to where it belongs.  Slowly I glided my hand across the sloping back of clock as I whispered..."Soon...soon, you will be back where you belong.  I promise...I promise."  Sometimes, objects murmur, but this time the clock spoke loud and clear.