Christie Mastric

It’s weird when you get emotionally attached to inanimate objects.

Case in point: Last year I bought a new (pre-owned) car, a Buick Encore that I love. I can handle the push-button start, and I love the heated seats in the winter. Sometimes the electronics befuddle me, but that I can learn with a few perusals of the owner’s manual, or asking my husband. (He’s been in the automotive electrical world longer.)

There are times, however, when I miss my old PT Cruiser. A blown head gasket and non-functioning air conditioning, though, were making it getting increasingly difficult to drive. Also, a former foster dog chewed off one of the rear passenger seat belts, making the car a potential safety hazard.

After a few unsuccessful attempts at selling or donating the car, I ended up selling it for scrap. That hurt, although let’s face it, most vehicles end up that way. I am not ashamed to say that I felt more than a bit of sadness when my old PT Cruiser, which I had for years, was driven away.

Sometimes I think about where it is now, and in how many pieces.

I know vehicles don’t have feelings, although there’s no proof of that, but until that proof comes, a tiny smidgen of me wonders if my PT Cruiser was sad at leaving its permanent, loving home to be taken to its eventual demise, or maybe the big Junkyard in the Sky.

I must remind myself that metal, rubber and even fabric that’s been chewed by a dog don’t have emotions. If they did, I would feel tremendous sadness every time I put a tin can into the recycling bin. Perhaps that’s another reason I should feel good about recycling; I’m giving scrap metal another life.

Plants, although they are living things, also aren’t likely to have emotions. I don’t hear little yelps of pain, or swear words, when I cut them for a bouquet. Yet I am bothered when I accidentally step on a lily or other flower, possibly ending its growing life for the season. They probably will regrow next year and reach their full botanical destiny, but still, I deprived them of some floral glory, and for that, I will continue to feel bad.

In fact, I sometimes have second thoughts about mowing over certain plants that grow in my lawn, but rest assured, crabgrass is not one of them.

Ants too are living creatures, but I believe they are tiny living souls that deserve our respect. First of all, they are not afraid of being underground. Secondly, they make awesome ant hills that somehow are re-engineered following a rainstorm.

Recently, after swishing my mouthwash, I spit it out on my lawn. (No one, to my knowledge, saw me.) I hope my liquid did not douse an ant hill, although I am confident they would have rebuilt it in no time because that’s what ants do. They also will have better breath and hopefully fewer cavities.

I might have touched on this subject of being unnecessarily emotionally attached in a previous column — my personal hang-ups don’t always change — and if so, my apologies. In the meantime, I will try to walk around ant hills and wildflowers.

A farewell from me

By the time column this gets to print, I will have retired from The Mining Journal. I had been there for about 10 years, and it was time.

I won’t spend my days in a rocking chair doing needlepoint, not that there’s anything wrong with that. I will, however, have more time to devote to Wordzee and Yahtzee With Buddies on my iPhone.

To my devoted fans: Maybe I will start a personal blog and post my ramblings there. Of course, my cognitive and physical health will continue to decline, but who knows what brilliant random thoughts will cross my mind.

I plan to get in some volunteer work too, but I have to work that out as it goes. In fact, that is my retirement plan: Wing it.

Since I won’t have to get up as early as often, I can stay up later and watch “Twilight Zone” episodes. Did you think my last column wouldn’t mention “The Twilight Zone”? Maybe that’s what retirement will be for me: kind of a surreal limbo.

We’ll see.

EDITORS NOTE: Christie Mastric has been an integral part of The Mining Journal editorial staff for about ten years. Her dedication to her craft could be a blueprint for anyone who follows in her footsteps. The Mining Journal staff appreciates her service. Christie’s work ethic and attention to detail made her an asset. We salute her and wish her a wonderful retirement that will allow her to “broker happiness.” in a whole new way.