He polished the jar lovingly with a towel, shaking it and listening to the faint rattle. He briefly considered adding graduated marks to the side to indicate the passage of years, but decided he liked it the way it was. Simple and straightforward. He stood and nested the jar lovingly in a lined box, smiling to himself. Then he folded the toenail clippers and put them back in the nightstand drawer.

"Thirty years," he thought with satisfaction. "Thirty years, and finally my project is done. This is going to be the best wedding night gift any woman ever got."

They'd had 47 good years, 3 good kids, and innumerable good memories. She missed him. Three years into the marriage, when they had hit hard times, he'd accepted a job as a salesman. He would travel the Midwest selling a reliable line of cast iron kitchenware to stores and outlets. She didn't like him being away, what with a babe in arms and another on the way, but how could he refuse a good paying job with mouths blossoming all around him.

On the road for 10 days, home for 5, all major holidays with his family. They didn't like it, being apart like that, but the surprising this was he was really good at it. A born salesman they said. He grew to like the job, eventually love it. She developed a routine, a fair amount of independence, and an appreciation for him when he was there.

Still she missed him. And he missed her. Afraid that he might not hear about local events she began clipping news articles that might interest him. In a blue basket next to an empty recliner they waited until he returned. First night back he would settle in, read about fires and births and sales at Kopenski's. Then quietly nod as he listened to his wife recount the latest family dramas. He was there for 2 out of 3 first steps and lost teeth, but recitals and little league were experienced from his lounger.

He would spend the next four days working on the house or algebra homework or pitching practice. Then back in the Buick and back on the road. They settled into this routine.

He passed away 6 months ago, he should have retired 2 years earlier, but he loved what he did. It wasn't about the money, it was the people. It was the routine. She had her routine, too. He'd been gone for 6 months and the blue basket was near overflowing.

there were a lot of things i wanted when i was a kid. i wished that papa would be home for christmas, with all his faculties intact and sober enough to sit up. i also wished that instead of cutting my hair using a tupperware bowl, mom would take me to carols' clip n' save (yes, there were two women named carol who were partners) to get one of those cuts that the pictures of the sandy-haired fellas in the window had. she was all into economizing, and continued with the bowl during the winter, and crewcuts during the summer.

as if my childhood wasn't tough enough, by the time i was finally old enough to take myself to get a haircut, one of the carols had died, and the other lost her flair for the creative and decided to close down the whole shop. now it stands there on a forgotten strip-mall, one cracked window, faded pictures of sandy-haired handsome fellas on the other.