My
parents-in-law lived in, what I always called a doll's house. It was a
small flat on a first floor. Small though the flat was, they've brought
up and raised their two daughters there.
In
those times the flat was big enough for them as well, they thought.
One of these daughters, as the reader will understand, has been my wife
for many years.
He
was already there early on in their marriage. It was a quiet companion
who had a tiny dwelling next to the kitchen. When the children were still
small he was a welcome guest, helping as it were keeping the family running.
He took care that all left the house smartly, going to school and to the
office. But the children grew up and one after the other left the warm
nest, where it had been good remaining all those years.
He
wasn't needed now as often as in that first period, but he kept up a good
front. And he never disappointed either of my parents-in-law. He definitely
wasn't demanding. About once a year he put on a new outfit, to look impeccable
and neat again. The years went by, not unnoticed by him either.
About once a week a warm hand stroke his back that was starting to get
old, which he found a pleasant sensation. He got a bit more wobbly in
the legs, although his joints stayed rather supple.
But still, he grew too old. Yes, the old ones still get on, but after
all those years...
My parents-in-law were in no easy position. You can't just put him in the street, my mother-in-law said. Turn him out just like that without knowing that he has a decent place to stay, no, no civilized person would do that, my father-in-law concurred. He has the right to spend his last years in a quiet environment.
After
many anxious nights of pondering they didn't find any solution, what to
do with
that old one. Maybe our son-in-law Jan will know of something, they said
desperately. So then of course one has to be desperate. As I'm not so
emotional regarding this kind of thing, I knew of a solution to everyone's
satisfaction. After making a phone-call, I called my father-in-law with
the message that I'd found him a place, but they had to take him there
themselves.
So that's what they did in the end. With a tear in their eyes they took
their leave of the dapper old one who, one can safely say, was cut out
of the right wood.
Some days after that there was another one at my parents-in-law's. He was young and strong. One of those firmly standing. A wonderful in white painted steel fellow; the new ironing-board.
Before
I forget to tell you, the old wooden ironing-board is now part of the
collection of the
Historical Museum in my home-town.
