Saturday I bought a work bench for my garage. Tonight, on the way home, I bought a new tool box (pictured above).
I am not a handyman, though I have visions of artistic creativity that involve sundry tools. I was never a mechanic. But there is something primal going on here, and irrational, and I am happy to own that. My father and grandfather were craftsmen. My dad built houses and mountain cabins, worked on cars, repaired radios and television sets, etc.
So am I going to be doing home repairs? *snort* Hardly. But the tools now scattered about the house and garage will soon be able to assemble in one place. There will be something comforting about that. When I am looking for something it will be far more likely to be found. It is akin to eating comfort food.
+Clumber would probably have something clever to say about the odd behaviors of bipeds. Point well taken in advance, old dog.
Sweet dreams.
--the BB
13 comments:
oH--Look at you! Just before we got hitched, I marked all my tools with pink fingernail polish to be able to discern them from the other tools in the house, and so that I could regroup them every now and then and place them in a box or drawer all their own.... These are still the only surviving tools in the house.... me thinks I am having box envy.
Are you going to bless it with smoke and a little water? --you should, you know. A box like that is nearly sacramental!
But there is something primal going on here, and irrational, and I am happy to own that.
Whoa! I'm glad you're in ABQ and I'm here in Bayouland. Irrational primals scare me a bit.
What can I say? Nothing clever like Clumber, but at least you'll be able to find your tools for minor fixes. The tool box is a marvel.
It does make a splendid variant of a golden calf, doesn't it? Somewhat evocative of a tabernacle, though in black metal instead of gilt.
When I get the work bench assembled and the tools in place I may have to stir up some frankincense. I always have (old-fashioned and fully exorcised) holy water on hand.
I'm leery of swamp critters and southern grannies who can conjure them, myself. Just as well we live with all of Texas between us, Mimi.
--with love from your irrational primal
The Clumbermobile, a 10 year old beater approaching 222,000 miles, is my toolbox. It used to seat 4, then jumped to 2, now 1 can squeeze in. Saws, drills, a router, hedge trimmers, a microphone and cables, some scrap oak from a project, a bicycle pump, all of my Beautiful South CDs, etc etc... It's convenient, albeit makes for crummy gas mileage. But it's still touch to find anything! If I don't have it, you probably don't need it!
Retired bishops don't travel in style, that's for sure!
Oooh that one big..... toolbox Butch, I mean Paul LOL
Sounds like quite the adventure- defining and organizing a space for endless purpose and possibilities.
I've got s hard-hat here you're welcome to- to go with the toolbelt and workboots you're sure to be buying soon. It's actually from the ground-breaking for a Reform Temple here in Montreal, but I'm sure it would still 'work' in ABQ.
♫Take your places
Can we fix it
Yes, we can
Paul the Builder
Can we fix it
Paul the Builder
Yes, we can ♫
I am assuming, Mimi, that this is based on a song. You are so optimistic. My family would roar with laughter. I just have the tools so someone competent can fix it for me. *chuckle* I did mention that this is all irrational.
Have you never heard of Bob the Builder, Paul? I have. For a while there, when my grandsons were younger, ad nauseum.
Only vaguely, Mimi. He was after my time and I had no grandkids to link me to him when he came along.
Admittedly, I cherish my isolation from much of popular culture.
I was surely not isolated from popular culture, and I don't know how to spell in Latin, either.
You, Grandmère, are mistress and maven of all that's happenin'.
That looks like a nice one, Paul.
Good on you, and good luck with the projects. You never know what previously hidden talent you may find!
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