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- Roger Kimble              

              I went to the county landfill today. They are becoming almost

mandatory if you have trash to get rid of, and that is a good thing. I had

a pick-up truck about full, and it cost me $8.42 to leave the whole load.

So, money-wise, it's not a bad deal.

              Included in my load were many things: a small tricycle, somewhat

rusted now, but in its prime it was a bright red, and it would keep up with

the wind and on its seat was a silver sticker which read Princeton Machinery

Company, a sticker that was put there by Amanda's grandfather, who, like

the tricycle, is gone now.

              Ollie, a bright yellow creature of unknown species with big eyes

and four wheels. It was just the right height for a three or four year old, but

it too had aged, its mane a mere whisper of its glory, and the eyes seemed

somewhat sad now. It had not been ridden for so long a time, and I think it

knew it was time to say goodbye. They know things like that.

              A baby pen that taught its occupant how to walk while holding on

to its sides, it too at one time a bright yellow, and like Ollie, grown old and

discolored, its only student of walking now striding and driving cars and

so, not needed any longer, it too knew its days as a teacher and watcher

over small fragile bodies had, as all things must, reached its final destination.

              A small swimmimg pool that served its little owner with joy. It had

been the ocean, with waves coming into the beach, and it buoyed small

ducks and other creatures on its gentle waves as it held its somewhat

none-too-sure swimmer. At full depth, it was only four or five inches, but

it was magic to its mermaid, as she played in the warm sun in its gentle

and tropical waters.

              I left some other things too, all outgrown and assigned now to

the misty realm of memories. All these things I left, for only $8.42.

They didn't know about the tear.