If ever I wanted confirmation that we live in a disposable society (and I didn’t), it came at the weekend and showed me that some of the kids of today just don't get it.
Now, I have a watch ... a 17-jewel movement, solid-gold watch given to me by my grandmother for my birthday in 1966. It's still a thing of beauty and I still get a kick out of the fact that I have to wind it every day ... yeah, it doesn't have a battery.
A bit like its owner, age has wearied it a tad ... the winder mechanism has worn a bit ... reckon after 46 years everything wears a bit and it's hard to get the part to repair it, but I do. (My personal winder is still in working order for what it's worth.)
I go to the same jeweller in South Melbourne about every 18 months or so and get it serviced or fixed when the need arises.
As I did last Saturday. There was a kid on duty in the shop ... about 18 or so, a really personable young fella and I'm guessing it was his first job.
I explained that I was somewhat of a regular because of my watch.
I was blown away when he said: “Perhaps it’s time to get rid of it and get a new one.”
Apart from the fact that it is (I have been told … and it was something offered, not asked for) worth about four grand (probably more given that the estimate was given to me about 10 years ago), it’s part of my life, a tangible link to my long-departed grandma. It’s something I’ll have and use until I eventually step off the coil. I love it.
My grandma, by the way, always put lots of thought into her gift giving.
I still have my first Esky – a blue, galvanised-iron number that holds just a six pack – which she gave me when it had become apparent that six packs would play a constant part in my life. Yeah, she could read the signs early.
PAR FOR THE COURSE
Speaking of age wearying things, I had a hit at the local golf driving range three days ago with some mates.
Reckon in the main I hit them pretty well.
But it hit back. Three days on and the pain of using muscles long idle is finally subsiding.
I guess that means it has to become a regular thing to avoid three days of feeling like I’ve been hit by a bus.
ME IN A NUTSHELL
- G’day, I’m Michael and I have two fantastic grown-up kids. I’m a jeans and singlet/T-shirt, cowboy boot, tattoos sort of fella, who knows a bit about this and sometimes a lot about that. I'll have a crack at most things, although having a relationship? ... well that ship has sailed. I'm past my use-by date anyway, so I'm gonna make it all about me and surviving life as I know it ... or make it.