Keepers

By: Author Unknown

I grew up in the '50s with very practical parents. My
mother, God love her,  washed aluminum foil after she
cooked in it, then reused it. She was the original recycle
queen, before they had a name for it.

My father 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, dishtowel 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... and dogs with bad hips... and
aging parents... and grandparents. We keep them because
they are worth it, because we are worth it.