Why An Old Man Likes Old Things

This modest-looking old knife with a white handle will probably not be working for me much longer. The blade and the handle shake when you use it. It is becoming obsolete. When the knife breaks, I will throw it out.

But I remember when I bought it, in a supply store in the north country. It came with a similarly configured fork and spoon. (I also still have the other two.) They were wrapped in a clear plastic sheathe, with a white section at the bottom -- much like the way they had been constructed.

I bought the utensils so I would have what I needed at one of kids' visit to "farm school."

I no longer have a kid young enough to attend farm school.

And to grow old is to recognize what it means when things break and you discard them. You say good-bye, and know that in the process, they are looking back at you and saying good-bye too. Nobody but you knows their story.

Most things, and most people, vanish without their story ever being told.

And that is a sad ending. But for this particular knife, its story has been told, here, so that is a happy ending. I'll try to remember to update this post when the knife finally dies, if it in fact does so before I do.

That may take a while, because I assign it only easy tasks these days, things I hope it can handle. I guess I'm not ready to let it go.