The things we keep

Forty plus years after graduation, I still have this dirty, disreputable-looking pink and blue stuffed dog I bought on my first day away from home as a college freshman. A couple of months ago, in the throes of some serious housecleaning, I almost threw him out. The discard pile was sitting right there, ready to go out with the trash on the next Thursday morning. Lots of stuff went into that pile, but somehow Sleepy didn't.

So here he sits on this Thursday morning, still resting on the pillow of our guest room bed. Why? I'm not sure. It really doesn't make any sense! I am sure none of my children or grandchildren will want him. They definitely don't have a warm spot in their hearts for Sleepy, so I know that keeping him is not logical, but logic is not the issue here, memories are.

It's strange what memories we treasure, isn't it?