Do Overs

I just turned 67 with not much fanfare or balloons but a reminder of how I can become quietly smitten with inanimate objects. Like a child with a blanket or pacifier, I have a considerable diversion to discard these inanimate objects. Standing in the garage on a 40-degree sunny spring day, listening to the Sandhill cranes shouting their presence, I was planning my route in cleaning the numerous birdhouses on my property. My wife Kathy entered the garage and declared that the orange snow pusher shovel I purchased at Fleet Farm decades ago needed to be discarded. I stopped listening when she gave me numerous reasons because the panic engulfed me. I had just used it the other day after a 5-inch wet snow, and it had performed admirably as it had for decades. The balance and weight were perfect, along with just the feeling. Like a baseball player’s favorite bat, this shovel was my go-to for snow removal.

She pointed to the deck and said “check out the scrapes and gouges.I complied and was amazed at the damage on the cedar deck surface and realized quicky that she was correct , but I still had a bit of a panic feeling about dispossing of a reliable old friend.

I have, over the years, kept articles of clothing too long. There was this gray cotton sweatshirt with no sports team or university logo. It was always like putting on an old friend. It was my day off or Saturday sweatshirt. It still comforted me with the coffee stain on the front: the ripped neckline, and the appearance of being washed too many times. I have hats that fit me perfectly and shade this old head, but it becomes time to say goodbye, like many things with sweat stains.

I have no idea where this all came from and what gene or childhood incident caused me to panic before saying goodbye to these objects, but I’m grateful for my spouse and friends that will point this behavior out to me.

Good bye old friend