Thursday, March 18, 2010

Magic Toolbox

This is going to sound like a lie but almost every single time I need some sort of tool or bolt or screw or wire nut or (forgive me for being too technical here) that doodad needed to attach a light-fixture to that electrical box in the ceiling, well there it is in my tool box. Almost every time. Freaky, eh?

Here’s the even weirder part. I have no idea where the majority of that stuff in my toolbox came from. I don’t recall ever restocking it. Sure, some of it is left over parts from various projects, but mostly I guess my Dad supplied it.

Twenty years ago, he loaded a bunch of tools and what-not into the back of my rusty car before I moved to Alberta. I didn’t pay much attention although I was mildly irritated because my Dad was a serious hoarder and indeed he needed to edit the junk out of his life but I didn’t think it was really necessary that I drive his junk to Alberta and throw it out for him.

Turns out it wasn’t junk though. Years later, my oldest brother was visiting and discovered a number of his missing tools in that toolbox and that highlights another thing my Dad was: generous.

Were you thinking the word “thief” might be more appropriate? Maybe so, but I think my Dad was so “generous” with me because he worried that I would never be able to take care of myself, something my brothers could always do quite efficiently. Sadly, I am the family fart-in-a-windstorm.

Anyway, I think my Dad is still refilling my toolbox. And that’s the weirdest part considering he passed away seven years ago now. He has to be responsible. I have to chuckle though because I wish he had some sort of next-world power that would help me buy the right lottery ticket or secure a book deal or even magically morph my teenagers into compliant robots but instead, somehow he continues replenishing my toolbox like some gruff old tool fairy.

Yeah, I know. This theory is pea-brained and delusional. But I like it. Every time I riffle through that toolbox I find what I need and for a moment, I find Dad too. And for that moment, I imagine he’s still here doing his typical things: laugh-wheezing, complaining about the government, buying five pound boxes of chocolate for my kids and sharing highly exaggerated “true” stories. Maybe he gave me that gift too?


Chelle said...

So cool. I am still convinced sometimes that God finds my keys for me- and other lost things like the baby's all important and monumentally creepy ragdoll. God has time for that.

Also, weird fact #2, I have looked at the clock at 9:11 every day of my life since I was 12. Imagine my guilt when those planes hit the towers.

What I am saying is that I have supernatural powers and you would all be wise never to question my gifts or refer to me as 'crazy'.

Back to serious, I have seen blue balloons all over the place since Shannon's funeral. Only blue and always just straggling somewhere, sort of lost? It's comforting to find patterns and own them because what if they're not just patterns? I think I'll stop trying to talk myself out if it being imaginary for a while.

Word verification- murds.

Chelle said...

Except for 9-11. That wasn't my fault.

Keet said...

i'm not sure what to say. You're both awesome.

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