I grew up in the 60's/70's with practical parents. A mother, God love her,
Who washed aluminum foil after she cooked in it, then reused it. She was the
Original recycle queen, before they had a Name for it... A father who was
Happier getting old shoes fixed than buying new ones.

Their marriage was good, their dreams focused. Their best friends lived
Barely a wave away. I can see them now, Dad in trousers, tee shirt and a hat
And Mom in a house dress, lawn mower in one hand, and dish-towel in the
Other. It was the time for fixing things. A curtain rod, the kitchen radio,
Screen door, the oven door, the hem in a dress Things we keep.

It was a way of life, and sometimes it made me crazy. All that re-fixing,
Eating, renewing, I wanted just once to be wasteful. Waste meant affluence.
Throwing things away meant you knew there'd always be more.

But then my mother died, and on that clear summer's night, in the warmth of
The hospital room, I was struck with the pain of learning that sometimes
There isn't any more. Sometimes, what we care about most gets all used up
And goes away...never to return. So... While we have it.. it's best we love
It... And care for it... And fix it when it's broken.... And heal it when
it's sick.

This is true... For marriage.... And old cars... And children with bad
Report cards..... Dogs and cats with bad hips.... And aging parents.... And
Grandparents. We keep them because they are worth it, because we are worth
It. Some things we keep. Like a best friend that moved away or a classmate
We grew up with.