My parents knew what was the good stuff. And as I grow on in age, I find that I am inheriting this gift, that I, too, begin to know what it means to find the good stuff. I recall back when I didn’t think about such things, took for granted the things they bought, for me to eat, for me to wear, for me to use. Growing up to discover for myself that when I got something, when I picked things out for myself, that somehow they weren’t the same. I realized that I was thinking on the concept of “quality” on only abstract terms. You begin to make choices in your going, exactly what is to be a part of it, when it dawns on you that you can decide you want to suck the marrow out of life — and possibly, if you’re lucky enough, you will be able to pass that ability down to the next generation, when they, too, take things for granted until it is up to them to decide what is to be a part of their lives. Here’s to the good stuff. That’s a little of what makes life worth living.
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