"who stays up to ring that bell"

The bell in the church tower next door just rang, signaling three-thirty am. I wondered for a moment, "who stays up to ring that bell" then laughed at myself for not realizing at once that it's surely controlled mechanically. During these somewhat quiet hours, I am constantly reminded of my childhood. Even the ring of the bell puts pictures in my head of my grandfathers standing proudly next to their clocks. Grandpa Saunders with the clock that sat on the fireplace mantle next to the portrait of Aunt Sharon. I can see him getting up from his lazy boy after the evening news and winding the timepiece before heading to bed. That clock would keep me awake at night with it's ticking and donging if I slept in the living room at night while visiting. Grandpa Kessen stands with his hand layed gently against the side of the giant clock that nearly touches the ceiling, with it's giant gold ball that swings back and forth. I am awake at three-thirty mostly due to the fact that I have been laying in bed sick for 2 days now and can't stand it anymore and partly because the memories that flood my thoughts. These invitations to visit the past come to me thanks to reading Jacey's "25 things about me" on facebook today and while being sick in bed and bored Mike and I played "2 truths and a lie" bringing to life our histories. Consequently, I lay here with hysterical videos playing in my head such as peeing my pants before getting up to bat my first season playing softball and breaking through the lining in my grandparents pool therefore putting an end to that pasttime.
4 bells.
I can't often remember my childhood and although I should be sleeping I'm rather enjoying these memories. I am able to extract certain images very clearly. The house where I grew up until 4th grade in New Boston, IL. The bunkbeds my sister and I shared, the pegboard wall full of necklaces, bags and random objects. The time I accidentally stuck a needle in my parents water bed and a small stream of water sprung forth, the giant ceiling in the living room that was perfect for a tall Christmas tree, the cool yet sometimes scary basement where I often spent time alone singing and dancing to my first tape...the Beach Boys. The sandbox, mullberries, the triangle bug house my dad made to house all the insects and butterflies I caught in the yard, the playhouse that mimics the real house both built by dad as well, the creepy cornfield that became much creepier after we convinced mom to let us watch "Children of the Corn." These along with many memories of Sunday Dinners at Gram and Gramp's house with the fam. Maybe I'm just missing home a bit.