When he was alive, my dad used to say “it’s a romantic idea, indeed.” And when my sister and I would look at him with mouths agape, he’d say “no, not the lovey dovey romantic, I’m talking about idealism.” I guess it made an impression, because now I am merely a lady of leisure with nothing but a degree in English.

I still remember going to the local hardware store on main street, and getting careful advice from the attentive shopkeeper. I was buying a 20 cent washer.

When our store fell to the huge Home Depots and Lowes that came to town, I was sadden. As with everything else, one has to travel progressively farther to get American quality, as the outskirts are the only place a company devoted to quality (and not quick effortless profit) can open shop. I traveled as far as Wyoming for a hand-made American purchase once.

Still, there’s a part of me that tries to re-create the romance of American quality. Our house is only a little over 60 years old, but you can tell from the doors that the wood was manufactured from grade lumber. I even get excited when I see the words “American Standard” in the bathroom. Any help you can get to remind people how great the country once was, is welcomed.

I often sit and wonder what is the future of quality. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance made a huge impression on me when I was a kid. The three countries I think of when I think of quality are Germany, Japan, and America. Sometimes I am almost panic-stricken by the notion that the memory of quality will disappear from society, that we will no longer remember what doing things the right way, and the result of doing things the right way looks like.

Guess that’s why the New York Steinway is in safekeeping at my house.