The Last Egg

George knew all too well my sentimental side, had mentioned it in the first few words of his special letter to me. I thought about that as I opened the refrigerator to get an egg to boil for tuna fish (he made our tuna fish, did not use egg, so I thought I'd move into new ground and make tuna with egg, adding pickles, apple, mayonnaise. . .the usual). He also bought the groceries. As I looked into the refrigerator at the egg carton, I thought, "George bought this, he bought the pickles, and if I'm not careful, I'm going to be a character right out of Charles Dickens, hanging onto the past through things. . . Here I'll be with cartons, jars, and the like because George selected them, brought them home to us." I must not be a Mrs. Haversham; George has left us with many wonderful memories of his humor, his faith, his love, his philosophy--so much more deserving than pantry or refrigerator items. Remembering him, cherishing his personality and taking care of his books are much more kindred memorial ways. Besides, one quick visit from Melissa Pettit can take care of sentimentality gone crazy with egg cartons and jars. . .