I was at my grandmother's house in Kentucky last weekend. She passed away a year ago this October, so my dad and his siblings are in the midst of the tough and frustrating process that is dealing with her estate (my grandfather, her husband of 70+ years, is also deceased). At any rate, I inherited some baking dishes and other kitchen odds, and whilst packing I threw in a box of kleenex to help buffer the breakables.
It was fortuitous timing, as I ran out of kleenex in my apartment yesterday. It turns out this box of kleenex is almost 30 years old. It's older than me, folks! How on earth does one manage to use so little kleenex that they only have to buy a new box every 30 years? And yet, this typifies my grandmother to a T. She grew up during the Depression and learned to make the most of everything. Having this kleenex box around reminds me of her, and that makes me happy.
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| My grandma's Kleenex 20th anniversary box. 1964-1984! |
It really is the little things. I always try and find a kleenex box that makes me happy, even if it costs an extra 50 cents. If my kleenex box makes me crack a smile every time I see it (which is multiple times a day), then that to me is totally worth the extra two quarters. For example, the boxes that just ran out. I kept the chick around even after it was empty, but I finally recycled them both yesterday.
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| How could you not smile at these! |
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| They even had little tails :-) |
All smiles,
b
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