Not Disposable

I dragged out a sweater this morning that I bought about twenty years ago. It has bleach stains on it and the colour is almost faded entirely, but it is still serviceable and since this morning's job was to sanitize the toilets at our community hall, it seemed to be the appropriate garment.
I save things. I learned this from my mother, who bought the best quality of everything and used it until it was worn to nothing.
What brought this to mind was looking at a towel that I washed and folded yesterday, ready for the YD to come and pick up her animals. She uses this towel to pad the seat the cat is attached to for the trip from here to the city.
I looked at this frayed and worn (but still useful) towel and laughed, because the YD inherited this thing from my mother.

Fifty years ago my mother used it to pad a card table to make a changing table for her grandkids when we visited the grandparents. In June of 2016, this photo will be fifty years old.
And, no, not the YD. Her sister, whom I hope will never see this. Yes, she was hard to persuade to keep still while the diaper went on. Outside the frame of this shot, I am holding on firmly to both her feet.