Generally speaking, I keep things till they die.
Take my electric stove, for instance. It's over 25 years old and looks every day of it. Scratches, chips
Then there's my dryer, which is close to 20 years old, and has outlived several of his neighbors in my basement. Neither the washer nor the water heater can boast such endurance, and I sometimes wonder if the racket Sir Dryer makes in carrying out his duties is his way of touting his longevity.
My treasure of a brother-in-law (OK, he's more like a brother) has breathed new life into that old appliance a number of times. With each load I throw in for a spin dry, I also toss up a prayer of thanksgiving for Tom's expertise and his willingness to invest his skills and talents in my direction.
The guy's one in a million.
I prefer to call my aging array of household equipment unpretentious rather than homely. If connotation is king, I'd like to give my workhorses the benefit of the doubt.
Why do I hang onto old things when I can afford to replace them? The practice has caused me inconvenience at times, when gadgetry bites the dust and I have to scramble to bring in the reinforcements. Still, there's this part of me that enjoys seeing restoration rather than retirement.
After all, they don't make 'em like they used to.
The same can be said of older people. With age comes experience, an invaluable component of wisdom (the fact that I'm rocketing towards my golden years, of course, has nothing whatsoever to do with my assessment of the topic at hand). Age doesn't guarantee maturity, obviously, but it does afford the opportunity to "grow up" in ways that matter: self-esteem and humility, for example, which may seem like opposites but are really just two riders on the seesaw of life which, when balanced, make for quite a stable ride.
When I hold onto rickety but still functional appliances, perhaps that's my way of nodding to a world view in which the elderly were cherished and respected, as opposed to being chided and rebuked, for their less than modern perspectives.
I felt this philosophy being underscored yesterday when I caught a Zoomed reunion featuring several key actors from the 1970's TV series, "The Waltons." The cast reminisced about a story line in which the senior Mrs. Walton returned home after suffering a stroke, only to find her former duties being stripped away from her. She cried piteously to her daughter-in-law about her need to be needed. Interestingly, the actress playing the role, Ellen Corby, was herself fighting this same battle in real life. Having survived a stroke, Corby was determined to return to the show minus the ability to speak, upon which her sharp-tongued character relied heavily. Corby proved to the audience and to herself that she had new and different things to offer, even as some of her abilities waned.
My own parents also exemplifed this truth. Both gave richly to their families, even towards the end of their lives. Mom became an encouraging audience for grandson Tommy to practice his fourth grade reading skills, even as she lay helpless and dying. Dad could still make a mean cup of coffee to see his adult daughter through her workday. I can still remember him calling proudly up the stairs, "Your coffee is ready!" before settling onto the couch to watch TV with tiny Ethan (who was the only six-year-old on our block to be conversant in national news and Civil War history, both of which Granddad imparted to his absorbent little mind). When Dad could no longer do those things, his suffering stirred compassion in my older son's heart; Aaron, undoubtedly inspired by the sacrifices he had seen both his grandparents make on our family's behalf, chose to stay by Granddad's bedside rather than collect candy one Halloween.
Who says kids don't copy what they see?
I guess I'm in a sentimental mood, or maybe it's the overabundance of folks I see populating nursing homes, but I just feel the need to speak on behalf of old things and old people. Given the growing public support for assisted suicide, combined with high rates of suicide among the elderly, it seems more urgent than ever to proclaim the worth of a segment of the population whose heyday may be long gone, but for whom vast purpose still remains.
Funny note to build on the point I've been trying to make in this article. I wanted to finish it up and post it last night, but my "getting on in years" computer was slowing down and fizzling out, as was this author. Woke up this morning, and voila, both technology and human have it all back together (well, mostly). Perhaps our older folks (and older things) need a bit more in the rest department to keep going, but at the end of the day, they can still pull things off.
Thanking our great God for all the seasoned stuff and geriatric gems in our midst.
"Those who are planted in the house of the Lord shall flourish in the courts of our God.
They shall still bear fruit in old age; they shall be fresh and flourishing..."
~ Psalm 92:13-14~
For more like this, check out The Great Reset, AKA, Growing Pains 2
