I bought the shoes in 1999. They are still here.

I continue to wear them, just about everywhere. Well, let me qualify that. I do not wear them to church or out to dinner, but around the house, in the garden, in the snow…yes!

I was, in 1999, looking for waterproof boots that fit my 9.5 wide feet and looked, if not fashionable, at least OK. I couldn’t find any.

A note in one of the magazines that I read said that Land’s End had shoes that were amazingly good and less than $30. I took a look. They came in wide’s. I ordered a pair.

They are backless slides, with a sole that is more than an inch thick made of some kind of rubber-like material. The upper portion of the footwear is a brown sueded leather that has proved to be wonderfully waterproof. They are warm in the winter and not hot in the summer.

They never were beautiful. Now they are, well, less than that. I now have a pair of fantastic LLBean boots that are warm, don’t leak and are fairly good looking, but I hang on to my old slides because they quick to wear and they still work.

The same is true of an Irish knit cardigan, complete with all of the intricacies of the style, that was old when I acquired it. A friend was divesting herself of this woolen masterpiece and offered it as a donation to a clothing drive at Catholic Charities. Despite the fact that it was missing several buttons and needed some repair on the sleeves, I loved it. So, I swapped my new sweater with its buttons for the Irish knit one. I’ve never added more buttons and wear it with its needed repairs undone. It’s been more than 20 years, my go-to sweater for cool evenings in our family room, which means that I can wear it every evening beginning in the fall of the year. It’s heavenly warm and takes the place of multiple blankets needed to keep the evening chill away when you are sedentarily watching TV. This sweater and the one that my Mom gave me have kept me warm for many, many years, and neither is fashionable.

Then there is the offset Japanese weeder that I bought when I could not afford it, a treat for myself during an especially hard time. It’s more than 30 years old, a bit rusty because I have not attended to its care as often as I should. But it is marvelously suited to its job. Triangular in shape and offset from its shaft, it moves around the plants effortlessly and removes the offending weeds quickly. It does double duty as a smallish spade when it’s time to remove larger infestations or to plant smaller offerings. When spring comes, and I can only dream of that now, I know that my first work in the soil will be with my simple tool in hand.

Looking around, there are so many objects that I’ve accumulated over the years that are modest, mundane, useful and somewhat less than aesthetically attractive. My home could be museum for such things. I have a bunt pan and a food mill that I bought for 50 cents more than 50 years ago that join five wicker laundry baskets purchased for less than a dollar each at the same yard sale. Each showed its age when I bought it and time hasn’t changed that. I wouldn’t exchange them for anything new or fancier. They are perfect without being magazine photo worthy.

And then there is my set of knives that I bought with great anxiety about the cost. In the world of things that are better when they are better, it has to be knives. Before I took the plunge and bought this set, slicing butter was a challenge. Facing a butternut squash was the equivalent of climbing Mt. Everest without a sherpa. With my lovely red handled knives I can now cut a tomato into thin slices and face that hard skinned squash with no fear. Life with those blades is better. And, to be truthful, they are rather stunning with their red handles. So, they don’t fit the categories of old, worn and useful, but they are certainly appreciated. Only time will morph them into the well-loved status.

Now, the world is a mess. Hordes of displaced people are seeking safety all over the world. Declared and undeclared wars are destroying massive numbers of lives. A frightening pandemic of thought has grasped the minds of humans as people are aligning themselves with those who believe only as they believe, rejecting the power of discussion for the easy path of the mindless follower. We turn our heads away too often from the needs of the poor and oppressed, suffering from compassion fatigue. Our little village has lost a fine dining restaurant, the pharmacy and its beloved grocery store.

So, how to cope?

Today I am thankful for the little things … each is special, bringing a simple comfort to me, inanimate allies of my family and friends. They have been there when I needed them, never speaking loudly or keeping me awake at night, often easing my passage through a day. And, thankfully, none has an opinion with which I have to negotiate.