keepsake ovenbird ”Dad finally threw some things away!” Mom announced. A momentous occasion. A milestone, even, for a man prone to wanting to keep things. But they’re moving soon and decisions have to be made. Not everything can be kept and he will have to let things go, severing attachments, setting memories free on the breeze. “What did he throw away?” I asked. “Well… teeth,” my mother said. “Teeth?” I echoed. I was sure I’d heard it wrong. “Yes, teeth,” she said again. “We found teeth all over the house. And what are you going to do with those? He threw them away, though he really didn’t want to.” I had a vague memory, then, of a small plastic box with an extracted wisdom tooth sitting on his dresser. Whatever wisdom it contained must have dried to a dusty film by now. And, really, what are you going to do with a tooth, other than stash it away like some deranged tooth fairy? “Was there anything else?” I asked. Meaning, did he consign any other items to the trash? “Yes,” she said, “A compass on a plastic cord.” “Oh,” I said. And the conversation turned to other things, and as we spoke he quietly retrieved the compass from the garbage. 260327 what's it to you? who go blather from