A Blue Pig

Cheryl handed me a ceramic blue pig the other day and asked me if I wanted to keep it. She's on an organizational tear, putting our house in order and tossing stuff out, all because of this reality TV show that goes into some incredibly cluttered homes occupied by some incredibly undisciplined people. And, fearing that we might have some inclination in that particular direction, Cheryl is on a mission, which is good because we have more stuff than we could ever possibly use or need.

The pig looked familiar--it's a pig piggy bank, about 4 inched high, light blue with yellow swirls on it. I sure couldn't see any reason to keep it, but Cheryl reminded me that my mom gave it to me. So I put it on my desk. It's not a pretty pig--I remember now that mom laughed when she gave it to me. And it's heavy with change. This morning I noticed something white though the slot in the pig's back: a folded up piece of paper. So I fished it out. I'm guessing that I was 52 or 53 years old when she wrote the poem for my birthday. (Richards is a health food store where she lived.)

For future reference: don't throw out the pig.