Dad’s Ties

My father loved neckties.

When he died suddenly two years ago this week, he left several racks of elegant ties in his closet.

“Take some,” my mom said to family members who visited the apartment.

And we did. But when my turn came, the pickings were somewhat slim. (Which was fine with me. I was touched that so many young people wanted  Dad’s ties.)

Dad was not known for careful eating. The ties I brought home featured large blobs of who knows what.

I let the ties sit in my own closet for two years. Time, a few weeks ago, to decide what to do with them. I brought them out and pondered.

My son-in-law- to-be, Matt, surprised me by wearing one of Dad’s ties  on Easter. My cousin Jon sported one to my niece’s wedding in June.

Dad’s ties are alive in the world!  The stained, unwearable numbers I inherited could go.

I kissed the kangaroo tie and the tie with tiny dogs goodbye and put them in the outside garbage can. Seeing them in the indoor garbage for a few days would make me too sad.

Then I went for a walk.

Halfway through that walk, I changed my mind.

I came home, opened the garbage can lid, dug deep inside, and fished them out.

I’ve heard some amazing dry cleaning stories. Worth a try.

Thanks, cleaners! You are miracle workers.  The ties look as good as new.

And this fall, I just might turn myself into an older Annie Hall.