My personal axis has finally been knocked off. Reading an article posted by a friend telling us about how the millennials are refusing things from us old folks that we think are important. We spent the better years of our lives struggling financially to collect things, only to now find the offspring simply won't take possession of ‘em.
"What is wrong with you all?"
"Don't have room for it. Besides who wants to spend their life polishing silver when we can use plastic?"
Point taken…still hurts. Three years of home economics wasted on choosing my patterns. Mrs. Peggy Brackin must be rolling. IKEA shares are off the charts.
"Okay, y'all won't take the china; y'all won't get the moolah."
"Come on Paw Paw, we're heading West again."
"First class all the way."
TIMEHOP
So, a few years ago we decided to downsize. The reason was: too much house, too much yard and not enough us anymore. Put the word out to come and get it.
"Why now? Y'all ain't dead yet."
Silence was deafening, one being single and in law school and had no extra mental energy to deal with that mess. The other was "Hell bent for a sheepskin;" clawing her way up the ladder and keeping our precious moments fed, diapered, schooled, pee-weed, danced, scouted and sanitary. We sorted, resorted, pushed around, pulled back out until finally it went into to "going pile.” Four months of hauling in the stock trailer to store until the new house was built. Goodwill had to deal with the denied.
HOUSE FOR SALE,
SOLD.
Living in the necessary side of the "Barn-dominium" with 600 sq. ft. of luxury was being creative, even for sleeping. Other 600 ft. was filled with "All things considered."
"Oh hell, just shove it over."
"Over to where?"
"Hush, just, HUSH."
Lawd Hammercy!
Today as I pondered this new phenomenon of millennials’ refusal, I was brought to realize I am sitting here sipping my Zero Coke from a plastic disposal cup with a Merry Christmas logo stamped on.
Less is best…choose LIFE!
I requested no more gifts to me that I can't eat fried or baked or read or plant in a pot.
***I'm so sorry I hurt your feelings, Mrs. Brackin. I still can't sew, but I can cook the dickens out of a big old country dinner.***
They'll take that…bet on it.
The surprise of reality will be when the safety deposit box is opened and the will is missing.
