Waiting for me at the back door are my old, faithful Rockports, now relegated to gardening and other household chores.

There was a time when they had pride of place at the front door.

Well travelled they have seen the Sistine Chapel, walked the Champs Êlysees, been down the Mall and around Stonehenge.  But now, back in Brisbane at the end of their working life they wait outside in all weathers for the next time they are called to duty.

Mine! mine! mine! ….. I hear the grandchildren …. hanging on to their toys.  We know they will grow out of it and learn to share and take their part in the ‘consumer’ world, where most things are disposable and we understand  ‘mine’ is not forever.

‘Mine’ is a possessive sort of thing and sometimes it’s hard to let go until we have a replacement, a good replacement we are happy with.

In the end there is no recognition of service, no sense of sadness when the day comes; perhaps a few memories might be recalled, then it’s out the door…..

It’s a bit cold outside, I think I’ll bring my Rockports in tonight.