Wednesday, September 27, 2017

The Last Straw

It's funny what you can be sentimental about.  A matchbook, a name-tag, a street-corner, or a plastic straw.

Paul loved drinking things with straws.  As he began his ordeal which eventually took him away from us, the straws became more of a necessity.  At some point when we were sharing the Jersey City apartment he asked in the dollar store nearby about buying a whole box of straws they had behind the counter.  I can't remember what he paid for it, but it was more straws than most people would ever need.  The box stayed in NJ when Paul left for good, and remained with me when I moved out.

Tonight I used the last one.  Appropriately on a low carb milkshake.  It's a strange feeling to be sentimental over such a trivial thing, but I found myself wondering if I should save it.  In the end, I decided that Paul would have wanted me to use it on something like this, and not try to save it.  I mean, it's just a straw, right?

Take care friends.  Save the memories.  Not the disposables.