Several years ago I was home, visiting my parents (in their version of Smalltown USA). In their basement, on one of the shelves, sat a toaster that I'd grown up with; I thought it'd been exiled to the basement because my father likes to toast bagels and this toaster didn't know from bagels. Silly me. It was there because it was a wedding present and my mother didn't want to offend the giver by throwing it away.
NOTE: Their wedding was in 1959.
My father, being the kind of guy he is, decided that perhaps he could fix it. He did. I took the toaster home and for the past 10 years I've been toasting with it; it even became part of a story I told to my Storytelling class: "The Brave Little Toaster". My mother made me swear never to throw it away, because - you guessed it - it was a wedding present.
NOTE: She doesn't remember who gave it to them.
Sadly, I don't think it survived the move. I put bread in, but it doesn't go down and the heating elements don't get hot. So I called home to report the casualty and my father suggested that 1. I get a new toaster, 2. I throw it out (Mom agreed!) but that 3. he might take a look and see if he could get it working again. Just to see if he can.
Because, you know, a wedding present toaster from 1959 should last longer than a mere 46 years.