Do I just pitch them?!
|Looking at the birdie|
Do I just pitch them, too?!
And here's yet another question to ponder, Reader Dear: What does one do with all those items so old and rare and infused with decades and decades (if not centuries) worth of nostalgia that it's very tough to rid oneself of them?! (I'll make a list, but it's going to be long, and it's going to get tricky [I still want an answer])
2. Ancient German books, passed down for four or more generations by the fine folk who lent their DNA to The Yard Man, many of these tomes inscribed inside the cover with the owner's name (or names from each generation).
3. Tiny tea sets given to me as a child, one set from each of my grandmothers.
4. A charming couple of acorn-head dolls, handcrafted by the paternal grandmother of the Yard Man.
5. A hundred-year-old falling-apart leather book-bag with my paternal grandfather's initials stamped in gold.
6. Contents of book-bag: Certificates and school report cards of my father (whose top subject was math, I note). A faded, barely legible, penciled essay on the importance of obeying one's parents.
7. Ah, and so much more!* Once again I pitch you the question:
Anybody for pitching?!
*Viewer Dear, must you see it all?! The antique dishes? The dolls? The paintings? The woven baskets? The braided rugs? The wooden loom? The antique lunch box? All of the knick-knacks?!! Aargh.