Once again, I had to say goodbye to an old friend today.

I have a trusty Panasonic portable CD player that endured many years of use and abuse. Then, one day, it ended up in a box. It’s been used maybe half a dozen times since then.

Now that I think about it, it’s been stored for more than twice the time it was in service. I’ve been looking forward to including it in the purge—maybe, just maybe it’ll bring someone else joy.

And it cleaned up beautifully.

However, it is currently my last remaining CD player—aside from the car. When going through CDs it is not always convenient to take the stack and go for a drive to figure out what’s on them. Especially the mixes. The playlists I meticulously crafted, and may not have in my iTunes catalog.

It’s not exactly safe to drive and take notes at the same time. So my portable seemed the perfect solution.

Until I turned in my chair, and my sleeve caught the earbud cable and sent the player. crashing. down. onto. the. floor.

While playing.

Shit.

I picked it up. The screen is blank. Hit the play button, and the screen flashes back to life. Whew.

A couple of whirs and clicks—damn, it doesn’t sound right. Then the confirmation: “No disc.”

Okay, maybe the disc was jarred loose. Open it, and the lid doesn’t spring open like it used to.

Shit.

The disc is seated properly. Hopeful, I pop it out and back in and close the lid. Whir, whir, click. Whir, whir, click. “No disc.”

Shit.

Popped the batteries out and reseated. “No disc.” Tried a different disc. “No disc.”

Now my mind races. Where are the tools? I used to LOVE fixing these things! A project! To distract me from my bigger project!

Breathe. Stop. Ask yourself… why?

Why, indeed.

So, in the process of blessing and releasing my trusty CD player, I decided to write this li’l piece as a tribute.

True, I loved to fix things as a kid. Even as an adult. Yet, for the most part, those days are long gone. The items we purchase are cheaper whole than almost any single part. The fix-it shop of the past is gone.

Sad statement? Maybe. Throwing away everything seems to be the wrong answer—so wasteful—yet, this twenty-five year old player possibly (probably) has broken plastics inside it that cannot be replaced. Nor rebuilt. So, why open it?

To sell it for a dollar? Or five?

So, old friend, it’s simply time to say goodbye. Again.

And try not to drop the iPod that replaced it.