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The gift that keeps on giving …

Some time ago I wrote about the miscellaneous tools and other useful gear often found on my daily walks. Do I keep such finds? Heck, yeah. Much of it is stowed inside my tool chest or tucked away on the garage shelves.

Kathy presents the cup she retrieved from her own path. It will go into immediate use.

Jane presents the cup she retrieved from her own path. It will go into immediate use.

But now comes another pather/follower of this blog – Jane – bearing a gift recovered from her own walk of shame: a brown plastic recyclable cup clearly stamped for reuse yet pitched aside by some unthinking jerk.

Jane presented the cup to me Sunday morning at Caldwell Presbyterian Church. (I habituate a back pew reserved for the especially sinful.)

Her gift caught me off guard and her kind gesture was really appreciated. She’s the epitome of the frequent – and considerate – trash picker upper: she sees junk and picks it up. Hence the cup, which is now washed and in my cupboard – ready for reuse.

Hers is the gift that will keep on giving. Say, Jane, while we’re on the topic, if you come across any metric sockets, send those my way. It will help to complete the partial set already found. But Jane, thanks again. And keep up the good community service.

About Dave Bradley (264 Articles)
I was a writer by trade so one would think letters would come easily for me. It is so now, but wasn't always that way. Indeed, the first letter was written the Monday after Ellen started her freshman year in college. For years I've wondered - with no good answers - why I swiveled my office chair toward my computer screen to fire up a word processing document for that first letter. I just don't know. I just did. Perhaps it was the angst of separation or wanting to say things that had gone unsaid at that moment when we parted ways in front of her college dormitory. What was a one-off became habitual. When her brother Reid enrolled in the same college, his name was added to the salutation line. They were kids then and are adults now. No matter. The letter writing habit remains so today. I live in Brevard, North Carolina. I'm well away from where they live and don't see them nearly as often as I'd like. That's why letters, at least to me, fill the void of distance. The pages give me something to say and the space to say it. There is no assurance they read the letters; indeed, I have never asked if they do so. With the pace of their busy lives who could blame them for letting a letter sit unopened? Over time, it has dawned on me that the letters are both communicative - and cathartic. By nature, letters are about the writer; the writer can only write about their situation. Perhaps that is as it should be. It's all about the here and now from one person's perspective.

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