TEMPUS FUGIT

Croton Aquamatic, self-winding, 25 jewel Swiss movement, with sweep-second hand. Limited edition, model 2000, # 329 of 1000 made.

I bought the thing many winters past -- December 1, 1990, to be exact (I peeked at the receipt, which I still have). I can't say why I bought it really. My friend worked at an Ultimate In Gold Jewelers at Montclair Plaza, and while visiting the mall I decided to drop in the store for a brief visit. As we chatted, I saw the watch and said something admirable about it. The bezel reminded me of one of those old-fashioned diving helmets with the porthole opening in the front. And the leather band was thick and sturdy, as if it were made to last the way leather goods were made to last a century ago (as if I know how leather goods were made that long ago). It was an appealing design, at least to my sense of aesthetics. Mind you, I had no intent on entering that store to make a purchase, but somehow I walked out owning that watch. I'm not sure if that's a testimony to my friend's salesmanship, or to my impetuousness, or perhaps a little of both, but it cost me a whopping $293.56 -- in 1990 (just one in a long series of foolish decisions I've made during my life). Thinking back now, I believe one of the selling points at the time was that this is a self-winding watch and I had never up till then seen such a thing in my life (though they've been around for a long time prior). I think I found it intriguing and novel, along with the crystal display back that reveals the rotor and movement. It seemed, well, steampunk-ish to me at the time (I'm unsure whether that term existed back then, but the style is what one would loosely associate with Jules Verne and, in the case with this watch, "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea". One might imagine Captain Nemo issuing these to the crew of the Nautilus). I've always been fond of retro kind of gadgetry and machinery. By the way, those familiar with watches wouldn't consider the mechanics novel, but to a young ignoramus like myself, it was revolutionary.  

Up until recently it's been sitting as you see it here, on a desk in my studio. Oh, it operates just fine, it's just that I rarely leave my studio and thus have no need to consult a timepiece. But I've just recently begun consistently wearing it again for the heck of it. Besides, it only began to work again in the last several years. You see, not long after purchasing the watch, a friend was showing me these two giant magnets the size of anvils. I was wearing the watch while trying to pry the magnets apart. Naturally, the small springs, cogs, gears, and doodads must have gotten either tweaked, magnetized, or both, because the thing never worked again. When I did manage to get it to function it wouldn't keep accurate time. So it went into a drawer until several years ago when I got it out and found that it had apparently become demagnetized, because now it works like a jiffy. 

And then there is the box of matches pictured with it. That's another story . . .