I realized something today that made me sad — and a wee bit angry.

BJ and I were on our way to physical therapy this afternoon when we drove past a restaurant that has been a huge part of the community for many years. The owner died about two years ago, and everybody misses him. He was very active, donating to charities, serving on boards of directors, and more. And his seafood was awesome!

Anyway, since his passing, the restaurant has slipped a bit, and it finally closed a few months ago. Now they’ve demolished half of the building and are remodeling the other half.

It was a solid, well-made brick building, and while I don’t know what will be going into the space, I can’t imagine this new configuration is so much better than the old. BJ was the first to comment about it:

“There goes another landmark. Wonder why they felt like they had to gut a perfectly fine brick building.”

I replied, “Yeah, nobody has any sense of history or permanence anymore. It’s the same way we treat old people — I guess they’ve decided that it’s outlived its usefulness.”

The more I thought about that, the angrier I became. When I visited Stratford, England, I commented to the gardener about how beautiful the tulip beds were and asked him how he kept everything so lush. “Oh, it’s easy, Love,” he told me. “Just dig it up, plant your bulbs, and wait about 800 years.” He laughed, but it said something very profound about not dismissing something (or someone) just because it’s been around for awhile. I worry that, in our quest to make everything shiny and new, we often lose track of where we’ve already been. And I wonder what else we’re losing in the process.