Plink.
"Damn!"
"What did you drop now?" Joe's voice was exasperated. For years now as my mobility slowly decreased when something hit the floor it was out of my world and into his. It's not fair. But life isn't.
"The house key."
I haven't had a key ring for years. I have only one key. To the house. I keep it in the change compartment of my wallet. Or what used to be my change compartment but is now a zipperless lifeless flap. In the last couple of weeks everything that goes in comes out. Immediately.
"When are you going to replace that wallet? You've got a new one, you know the one you got for Christmas."
My chest clenched. The new wallet isn't my wallet. It's all firm and toned - it's everything I'm not. I love my wallet. I know that the credit card slots are all ripped and the inside silk has been gone for years. It's worn and torn and well used.
"Yeah, yeah, I know."
I do know. I should replace my wallet. But I'd lose the sticker. Years ago I did a presentation at 5 Oaks for the KW Habitiation folks and they gave out a gift bag and in it was a sticker for a radio station. The sticker had the station name, DAVE, and its number. I cut off the number and stuck the sticker on my wallet. I like that sticker. I like the KW Hab folks. I like my wallet. It doesn't just carry cash, it carries memories.
"It's not you who has to constantly pick stuff up."
He's right. But I like my wallet. It's got life left in it. True there isn't a seam that isn't torn somewhere on it's length, but you don't throw away wallets for something like that. This wallet has travelled all over the world with me. I really really really like my wallet. Really.
"Yeah, I know, I'll get to it this week."
This of course is code for, "please drop the subject and please pick up my key."
"Sure you will."
Years ago when working with a guy with a disability we tried and tried and tried to get him to throw out stuff that was useless, long past it's due date. That guy was my age now. He refused. Wouldn't listen to reason. We programmed him and prodded him and he wouldn't give it up.
I still don't understand him. Why would I consider him at all like me?
It's not like my wallet at all.
Or my underwear.
But that's another story.
And one you probably don't want to hear.
3 comments:
Why not just keep your old wallet where you keep other memory-filled small items? Then you can still look at it sometimes.
from a hoarder,
who understands...
Hah! I was thinking, if the sticker is stuck to the leather, then get a pair of good scissors and CUT OUT the sticker and leather. You now have a very special luggage tag or wallet memento. You could even cut out the sticker with some extra material to one side, punch a hole in the extra, and use a loop of bead chain to hang it from somewhere on your chair, or as a lamp-pull.
As I'm fond of saying, It's not a problem, it's an opportunity.
Now why guys will walk around with their boxers or whitey-tightys looking like storm-tossed ships, panels of fabric barely hanging onto the waistband, is beyond me ...
andrea, that is a great idea
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