Monday, June 16, 2014

Treasure boxes

I inherited the tool gene from my father, and likely a lot of his habits when it comes to fixing things. My dear brothers, bless their hearts, couldn't hammer a nail with a screwdriver. (Uhm, cause they'd try to). My workbench is very much like his. Okay, it actually is his. I took it from the garage when the booty was split up. The bench is unique in that the top of it is actually two sections of bowling alley bolted together. I have a good idea of where it came from, but nothing to back up the story. He built a cabinet beneath it to store the big tools. It all fits in my basement quite nicely.

Now, neither of us are/were hoarders, by any stretch of the imagination, but there hasn't been a nut, bolt or screw that I've likely not gotten rid of over the years. Someday, that'll come in handy! I have two mis-matched storage drawers that hold tacks, screws, miscellaneous parts of things that could come in handy for other usages down the line, and various other clips, washers and metal things.

I am a fixer mostly. I don't build much from scratch but I can fix a lot of things. All those little pieces come in handy. As I was digging for a couple of screws this night, I pulled out two very special boxes that reside below my second work bench. You see, I built another bench across from the bowling alley; two benches that flank a slop sink. It comes in really handy.

But back to the boxes. They are special in nature. Each time I rifle through them, it brings back memories of my father. They aren't very large, but I would consider them antiques. Inside them you'll find silcock parts, washers, drawer knobs, a boiler drain valve, one child-proofing drawer latch, and numerous miscellaneous parts of things long forgotten. But, these two little boxes have been my savior many times over. Just when you need it, the right part just seems to show up in them.

Believe it or not, they are the cardboard bottom halves of two Velveeta cheese boxes. That's right, two brown, cardboard cheese boxes as long and wide as a rubbery brick of Velveeta cheese. They had been in my father's garage for over thirty years and they have been with me for fifteen. Sometimes I think he sneaks the small part I'll have trouble finding into one of them just in the nick of time. It's amazing how much those little boxes can hold. I don't have the tops, they are long since gone to the ravages of time and sharp tools. But I have the bottoms, my own little treasure boxes with more memories than any box can hold.

What am I working on?....It's a secret.

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