Hanging On To Some Stuff

Some things can go away. Some things we've got to keep. So as I am sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room I thought I'd tell you about a phone call from our granddaughter Cassie.
Cassie was talking about politics, and how some politicians just go on and on and on about the same ideas. I said "Yeah, like a broken record." Cassie said, "What do you mean, Poppa?" I rememberd her age, took a deep breath, and said something like "It means there's a scratch in the record, and it's so bad that the record keeps repeating." Cass said, "Oh. Like a corrupted MP3 file." Drawing on my great command of the language, I said..."Mmmm yeah."
But it got me to thinking about stuff you don't hear any more. Stuff that's gone. Because sometimes it just...disappears and we don't notice when it was disappearing. The click of the channel changer on the TV...not the remote...the knob on the TV. The ka-ching of an old time cash register. A typewriter key hitting paper. The click-whirr of a rotating phone dial. The clang of a bell in a pay phone. Chalk scraping across a blackboard. The rustle of corduroy pants. The grinding sound of a pencil sharpener. The perk-perk of a coffee percolator. I've been making instant coffee for a long time. All that stuff is gone. And we didn't notice when it left.