Seeking Long-Term Relationship

Seeking Long-Term Relationships By Dorothy Rosby

A co-worker once asked me if I grew up during the Depression. “No, I did not,” I snapped. “But at least I grew up.”

I might have been a little defensive, but she was teasing me about my ancient radio and she wasn’t the first person to do it. The radio was a hand-me-down from my husband who bought it before we met, and we met a long time ago. He was going to toss it, so I rescued it and took it to my office because it still worked—usually.

Sometimes it didn’t come on when I turned it on. And sometimes it came onwhen I hadn’t turned it on. It was like magic, but that’s not why I kept it.

I didn’t keep it for sentimental reasons either. When it quit working altogether,I disposed of it and took my son’s castoff boom-box to my office, and it’s beenthere ever since.

And I didn’t keep the radio because I’m too cheap to buy a new one. I’m not cheap. I might not even qualify as thrifty. I don’t clip coupons, I rarely shop sales and I eat avocados—a lot. Nobody who buys as many avocados as I do could be called thrifty. Those things are green because they’re made of

money. The only reason I can afford them is because I’ve saved so much on radios.

I’ve saved a lot not replacing other things, too. My bathrobe and my sheepskin bedroom slippers are both more than 20 years old.They’re still in good Shape though—at least by my standards, which may not be that high if my radio is any indication.

The travel case I used for over 30 years to carry my toothbrush and travel shampoo wasn’t in good shape by anybody’s standards. Looking at it, you’d think I travel a lot more than I do. But it still did the job, so I used it until my sister, who travels with me occasionally, got tired of looking at it and gave me a new one. I love it! It’s got a place for everything. It’s purple and it’s obviously well made. I bet it lasts longer than the old one did.

So, yes, I save money keeping things until they disintegrate or someone else replaces them for me, but that’s not why I do it. Forgive me, now, while I talk some trash. I once toured Rapid City’s Material Recovery Facility. At some point on the tour, I stood in a huge room where the garbage trucks drop their loads daily. There were literally mountains of garbage. It looked like New Year’s Day at Times Square, only more organized. It was shocking and smelly and I didn’t throw anything away for a month. Of course, I couldn’t keep that up or my house would be shocking and smelly, too.

But it did make me aware of how much I throw away. Americans generate 4.7 pounds of garbage per person every day. Less than a quarter of it is recycled; the rest is incinerated or buried in landfills. How nice of us. We dig up raw materials from Mother Earth, then return them to her as trash. It’s like borrowing our mother’s car and then dragging it back to her with a tow truck. Keeping my radio, bathrobe, and slippers for as long as I can just seems like the least I can do. I appreciate durable products. And it’s a touchy subject for me right now because my dishwasher has started leaving food behind. That means I have to wash the dishes before it washes the dishes or risk having to wash them after it washes them. That’s much harder because the heat-dry part of the cycle works fine.

When I find something that holds up—be it a bathrobe or a radio—I keep it because so many things don’t hold up. My stove, computer, printer, vacuum cleaner, and garage door opener are all just a few years old. No, we didn’t win big on The Price is Right. Everything in my house is practically new because a short time ago, everything was old, and it all quit working at the same time.

I’m not sure how old my dishwasher is, but I do know it’s still sticky where the price tag used to be. Or maybe that’s not why it’s sticky. At any rate, I’ve had avocados that lasted longer. If I have to replace my dishwasher, I will have loaded and unloaded four dishwashers, all while I was wearing the same bathrobe. Is it any wonder I’ve kept the robe? We’ve been through a lot together.

(Dorothy Rosby wrote this column while wearing her bathrobe.) BHW