Monday, August 1, 2011


Tools have come up in conversation, been used, moved around and lost in the last couple days. Dad and I moved his toolbox last night. We have had SewerFest this summer in our building. I'm still working on getting the Artist's Dungeon back together. The upside of having your basement jack-hammered and crews of workmen stomping cement and pipe dust and whatall through the house is - you get to rearrange stuff. So Dad helped me move his heavy toolbox. Uncle Ken hurt his back moving his once. Serendipitously friend Rosemary picked up her Dad's toolbox yesterday from her parents' house. Where to put it? Carport? Nope. Too easy to back up a pickup and steal it. Basement? Nope. Up and down the stairs to get a wrench is out. She decided to put it in her dining room, where a buffet might be. I love that placement. I rant often about how we don't make our own tools, don't know who did make them; we don't work with our hands and we don't see the results of our labors. We are deprived of connection to our production. And life coach friends talk about the tools in our toolbox. Is the toolbox empty? What tools do we need to thrive? Do we have a full toolbox but just forgot what goes with what task? I told Rosemary that I was fixing the workbench now that the toolbox is moved. I have to saw two pieces of wood. We have 6 saws in the house, and not one of them cuts. Do we have living tools that do not fix the problem, too? I know that 4 of the saws are my grandfather's. So they are heirlooms. Or art. For now the 4 are no longer tools, unless each is resharpened, or honed. Something to think about with our survival tools, too. Yesterday I moved my toolbox, too.

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