As a kid I never really thought too much about time. It seemed limitless.

Then school came along and you had to be there on time and, of course, get homework done on time. Time became both an annoyance and something to look forward to. Meeting the deadline for a school report was frequently difficult, but knowing summer vacation was around the corner made it all worthwhile.

Domenic Giarrusso, whose story will appear in the Prime Time section of next Thursday’s Beacon, got me thinking about time on two planes. The first is the time we have on Earth – he’s made good use of it – and the second has to do with clocks. At 102, Domenic has had a full life. That’s not to say he will be leaving us soon, because he shows no sign of slowing down. It is a testament to his tenacity to keep going and doing the best he can.

I meet Domenic at an Honor Flight fundraiser where he talked about his service during World War II and what it was like to take an honor flight to Washington, D.C. and visit the war memorials there. He was relaxed addressing the audience and his message resonated with veterans and their families. As people started eating, I joined Domenic to learn more about his time in the Air Force and what he did. I discovered he lives alone, drives and still occasionally repairs clocks, which started as a hobby.

I have a love for clocks, not the plug-in or battery-driven ones. They’re too perfect. I find the ticking of clocks reassuring and their chimes a great way of subliminally keeping track of the day, although those with Westminster chimes every 15 minutes are too much. Weight- or spring-driven clocks require attention and adjustment once in a while. It’s a symbiotic relationship. You wind or crank up the weights and you have company for a day, a week and sometimes even longer. Clocks establish a rhythm that abruptly stops when you have overlooked winding them. Good thing, you can start again, unless, of course, the clock is broken.

My affection for clocks goes back to the summer days I spent with my grandparents. My grandfather was an Episcopal pastor and, as I remember, took up watch and clock repairs on a doctor’s recommendation the hobby would relieve stress. I don’t see how that worked, as it seemed, if anything, dealing with all those tiny parts would be enough to drive people mad. What I enjoyed was watching him work talking between puffs on his pipe.

 So when Domenic said he worked on clocks, I thought of the Seth Thomas banjo clock that has remained silent on our dining room wall for years. Might he get it going again? But more than that, I was anxious to see the clock shop and in a perverted sense turn back the clock to those childhood days.

Domenic looked at my clock and quickly diagnosed that other than the dial proclaiming it was a Seth Thomas, it “was a piece of junk.” He didn’t think it worth repairing and gave me the name of a company that wholesales clock parts and mechanisms to repair shops. I called and when they heard that Domenic was still working on clocks at 102, they agreed to sell me what I needed.

Domenic was surprised I got the mechanism. A day later he had the clock working, but told me to wait a week since he wanted to make adjustments.

I finally got to visit the clock shop – actually, a corner of Domenic’s basement. His work bench was well lit. He had a stool and clipped a magnifying glass to his glasses. Within his reach was a series of drawers and cigar boxes filled with gears and small parts. It was as if time had suddenly spun in reverse and I was back watching my grandfather as a kid.

The time Domenic spent showing me around and explaining why clocks stop took less than a half hour, but it was a timeless glimpse into what keeps him ticking – a passion to make things work.