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Our forefathers (and foremothers) were ingenious. They didn’t run out and buy new stuff when they needed something. They used what they had.

Here’s how they made confetti to toss at a parade – or at New Year’s. First, take the huge color comics sections that came with the Sunday newspapers. And, I do mean HUGE! A typical paper of the day might have 20 pages of Joe Palooka, Blondie, Prince Valiant and dozens of other stories. Then, cut up each section into long, thin strips. Taking a bunch of strips in one hand, snip them off into little squares with your scissors. Pack your stash in a couple of bags and you were set to go.

Today, if I want to see confetti I have to tune in to a New Year’s Eve broadcast on TV. And those people probably had to go out and buy their confetti from some supplier.

Our ancestors (and the older folks among us) never had any such problem. Their mantra was “look for something to make do.”

Is there a name for our inability to re-use old things? I was walking my dog past a recently demolished building the other day when I noticed something odd. Nothing from those ruins had been placed out front with a “for sale” sign.

In times past, there’d be doors and windows galore leaning against a fence. Contractors and homeowners with handy skills would buy them, plane them to size and use them in their own construction. Entire homes, I understand, were built from the old bricks of larger buildings. We seem to be “too good” for that sort of economizing today. If it’s not brand new, it’s “getouttahere.”

Despite all the public pleas to recycle and re-use, we are laggards.

Heating your home or business with anthracite was not the easiest task. A larger building, like a school, had to have one or two guys whose sole job was keeping the furnace going. For the home owner, winter meant surgically precise judgements about how much coal to put on the flame and how low to bank the fire at night.

But the upside was that you got ashes. And the ashes were great to throw on sidewalks and outdoor steps so nobody would slip and fall. No treks to the store to buy heavy bags of rock salt or ice melter. You had your own factory downstairs.

Perhaps the ultimate in recycling back then was the hand-me-down.

No self-respecting family would consider throwing away (or even giving away) the clothing that an older kid had grown out of. No, it was washed, pressed and solemnly presented to the next child of that gender in line.

If a kid responded with a pout and a “but Mom, the kids will laugh at me,” mother (and dad too if available) would likely have informed the mouthy child that the alternative – going to school naked – was illegal. End of debate!

A more welcome hand-me-down (at least for the boys) was the military gear brought back from war by older relatives or friendly neighbors. On my block, there was immense traffic in khaki blankets, canteens, web belts, campaign hats and – believe it or not – gas masks.

Will society ever return to the days of use and re-use? I doubt it. We’re hooked on the new.

But if that great day ever arrives, I’ll celebrate. I won’t go into detail, but I will say that it involves taking a Sunday color comics section and a scissors and…