When my wonderful neighbor Andy died almost seven years ago, his wife was good enough to give me an old–I mean old–lawnmower that was perfect for my dad to use on a part of his property that sloped and grew weeds. He loved it as much as Andy had, and I now have it back, and would never part with it, knowing how it was revered and a part of the lives of two of my favorite men.
Our close friend Gus picked up a knife off my Dad’s workbench when he went there to swap a bedroom set for us with Jim. I told him to take anything he thought he could put to good use. He uses that knife for scraping down his canoe. He loves it; it’s perfect. He tells me he thinks of my dad whenever he works on the boat.
This is what someone’s life and material things mean. This is my Christmas.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
Life’s hypertext.
Yeah, kinda neat way of thinking about it.