Offer From a Facebook Page

 

Offer: 

Scraps of fabric, lace, embellishments and ribbon. Most less than 6inches long. Good for scrapbooks and junk journaling.

 

Accumulated over years, maybe generations.

Some worn-out, some never finished,

Some the leftovers of other projects, carefully hoarded,

From a time when pennies were dear.

 

Now,

Pennies are a thing of the past,

There's no room in the house for things that carry only ghosts of second-hand memories,

And no time to make new ones from the scraps of a forgotten heritage.

 

I can't put a price on this,

So I give it freely,

Asking only that you gaze upon it fondly for a few minutes,

Your head full of grand plans,

Before pressing it between scrapbook pages,

Or putting it away for a project that will not come to fruition,

Eventually passing it on to another kind stranger

And their own grand plans.

 

 

 

Apologies to the original poster if this offends.  When I saw the picture, it reminded me so much of the fabric, crochet, and crafting scraps that my late wife saved, and we stored together through 40 years.  Right down to the ziploc bag.  I recently gave away most of those second-hand memories, too.  I'm sad to have done it, yet glad to have spared my children the task.

My Dad was a Cop

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While corresponding with a remote friend, this subject came up: 

 

>>   (sorry, my dad was a cop, and these things kind of rub off) 
> Updated, and that is super interesting. I bet that must have been quite interesting, and also nervy at times with your dad being a cop. I bet you heard loads of fascinating stories.

I tried to think of interesting and harrowing stories, but couldn't.  I was a kid, and not thinking about it, plus he faced far fewer dangers in our relatively small town.  It mostly affected my life by teaching me how to be quiet, as he worked graveyard for quite a while.  Also, he drank too much while he had that job.  I suspect that there were a few issues he tried (and failed) to keep from the rest of the family.

 

I do have one story, though.  It was about his first "arrest."  He was sent to respond to reports of a piglet which had escaped its farm enclosure and was seen wandering around the town square.  He had a picture framed, which he called "Pig arrests pig"  (the local paper didn't use that headline).  He had a watch with a revisionist message:  "Pride, Integrity, Guts" -- sort of an attempt to "own" the term.  Later, he quit the force because he was passed over for a promotion that he felt he deserved.  

 

John Lee Payton, Sr.

His Missouri accent was stronger than mine, and sounded a bit more southern.  I think he tried to look like Dean Martin and sound like Andy Griffith.

He was a strict father and discouraged "feelings," which served to estrange his artistic son and discourage questions about his day.  I inherited his temper, which threatened to do the same with my family.  I hope it did not.