Well-Swept Yard

  My father, Julius Page Allen, was a man of few words. Maybe as a consequence, I remember many of the things that he said.  He said to me one day, "I just want to wake up dead."  That is a marvelous attitude, thinking on arrival at that moment without thinking about suffering or guilt or any of the other things that often accompany dying.  He had watched many people die. He knew. He knew that dying could come as the conclusion of a long days of suffering and insufferable visits from relatives who check in on you to see if you are dead yet.  As it happens, he woke up on the day of his death. He had a nice breakfast. I think he did a reasonably good job of running a Norelco around his chin. "I'm ready for a nap." He liked a good nap and took one as often as he could.  At any rate, he lay down. I hope he went to sleep. He did not get up. 

My father rarely threw anything away, attitude from the farm upbringing and the Great Depression.  Nails were an interesting illustration. A nail, no matter how bent and rusty, is useful. Dad had cans and cans of bent nails that he used building things around the house, indeed for building various out-buildings from lean-roof chicken houses to dog houses. Fifty years later they still stand.  When he needed a nail he took one from the can and either straightened it in a vise or hammered into shape for reuse. I cannot be certain, but I do not think that my father ever bought a new nail.  I have other examples of one man's trash is another man's treasure. Maybe I will talk about some of those at another time.