It didn’t take long for me to find my way back to Magnetic Tattoo.

So far, I have racked up four very small tattoos on my inner arms. (Stories about the most recent two are here.) With each one I have gained a bit more confidence — and fallen further in love with having art emblazoned on my body to look at every day.

This time around, I finally jumped in for something larger.

When Dan dropped me off at the studio I was entirely full of panicked nerves. I glibly told him, “I don’t remember why I’m doing this.” He threw back, “Because you’ve been telling me about this tattoo for years.”

It’s true. There are a few images I have loved for as long as I can remember, namely clocks and keys. I already have my key; it was time for my clock.

Clocks make me think of both of my sets of grandparents. On my father’s side, my grandparents collected clocks. They were everywhere, including a curio cabinet full of miniature clocks that I loved to stare at. Being at their house on the hour was especially riveting to me when I was young. On my mother’s side, my grandparents had this Bavarian cuckoo clock over their dining room table; I particularly remember it chiming when I would stay up late waiting for my grandfather to return from his third-shift job.

My new tattoo is inspired by that cuckoo clock; it borrows a lot of Cambria‘s playful and feminine style that I enjoy so much and maintains my love for all things German. It’s larger than I had originally intended, because the scale worked better at this size.

One extra Easter egg: the time is set to (roughly) 6:06 — my grandmother Hazel’s birthday and both my dating and wedding anniversaries with Dan.

A question I need to muddle over for the next three weeks, while this heals: do I go back for color? (Thought? I’m leaning toward yes.)