Original Post | September 2015

I'm sad when I buy something new to replace something old. I feel like I'm betraying the something old.

It was much like last weekend while on a press trip, Len and I visited a distillery in Sevierville, Tennessee. We met the distiller, and he just happened to be from North Georgia. We knew the same people, and we even shared a laugh. I felt like I was two-timing Carlos (North Georgia Moonshine).

On the same trip, we went to Smoky Mountain Knife Works in Sevierville. Knives, guns, cutlery, even a Katana. The respect I had for Michonne (Walking Dead) skyrocketed when I saw the size of that thing. But back to knives.

Len always carries a pocket knife. When we met, he carried the one his sons had given him as a constant physical reminder that they were with him. He lost it in the attic during a clean-out, but he has never given up hope that it will find its way back home into his pocket one day when he least expects it. Then, he replaced that one with one of his father's blade, a reminder as well. Long ago, his father received it as a promotional piece for his hardware store; it read Carver's Auto Parts before time erased its engraving. Although the blade, even then, was a little rickety, the handle worn, it took its place inside Len's pocket. He decided last weekend, it was time for a knife to call his own.

The new Colt is now at home in Len's pocket. His father's knife sits on his dresser, in a plate where all Len's valuables and trinkets rest each night. It won't be tucked away inside a drawer, but will remain in the light. Even though we take things out of commission, parting with them still seems unnatural, so we keep them if for no other reason than to remind ourselves of what once was.

I suppose we can say that about everything: a new pot versus mama's old iron skillet; my death-trap Saab versus the vehicle I'm dreaming about; daddy's sturdy ratchet set versus Home Depot's newest do-everything singular sensation; the latest ergonomic office chair versus old faithful that was hard as a rock and supported me through everything.

I'm not two-timing, I say with conviction. I'm making adjustments, fixing what hurts, retiring the worn. Who am I kidding? This emotional sentimental journey is a long one, and I will continue to replace, but never discard. And really, who am I hurting? I have drawers and acres and cabinets to store the entire lot. So if one day, you see me on Hoarders, just smile and know my heart (like my house) is full.