I am in need of an outlet for words. A way to clarify and find my way. Words do that for me sometimes. Tonight, a few minutes ago, I tried to go to bed. I started thinking about my grandpas tools, because my Dad gave some tools to us the other day and some of them were my grandpa Jack's. I remember asking my grandpa for help once cutting the table legs shorter for a table that Ariel and I had bought. I worried that I would regret cutting the table short, because I really liked the idea of a high table. I never looked back, practically. It was too hard to find comfortable chairs for a high table. My grandpa took Ariel and I out in his garage and I remember my fascination with his tools. he gave Ariel a sander once and some other random tools. I know that I have always been fascinated by things that other people might consider unimportant. But I know my grandpa considered tools important and so do I. So I keep that sander like a priceless relic, even though my Dad later gave me another just like it, which my grandpa had given him, so apparently my grandpa had a ton of them because he collected things which he deemed valuable. Who knows how many more red Craftsman hand sanders he had. One of the most useful tools I've ever owned...
As I lay thinking about sleep, and my grandpas tools, thinking about how some people are willing to impart knowledge and how my grandpa probably had no idea how I regarded his tools and his expert use of them. The memory of being with him as he expertly cut my table legs shorter, explaining why the angle and which side it should be laid on to get the right floor contact and leveling, thinking maybe I should have been inside talking to my grandma Helen, but remembering how I really just wanted see how my grandpa would accomplish the task, I was flooded with the sensation of belonging. Even though my grandparents came from a different generation and women being in love with tools wasn't something they could related to, I felt their home was a place where I belonged. Laying in my bed I felt a sense of belonging and an acute loss of people that in reality, I lost years ago. For Helen it's been 10, for Jack it's been 3; but they are a part of me and I miss them. They appreciated me. And I felt like I belonged. I recognize that it might be helpful for me to write a list of things that make me feel that comfortable, reassuring belonging that I am in need of. And maybe, it just might be time to send my words out into the webwaves.
As I lay thinking about sleep, and my grandpas tools, thinking about how some people are willing to impart knowledge and how my grandpa probably had no idea how I regarded his tools and his expert use of them. The memory of being with him as he expertly cut my table legs shorter, explaining why the angle and which side it should be laid on to get the right floor contact and leveling, thinking maybe I should have been inside talking to my grandma Helen, but remembering how I really just wanted see how my grandpa would accomplish the task, I was flooded with the sensation of belonging. Even though my grandparents came from a different generation and women being in love with tools wasn't something they could related to, I felt their home was a place where I belonged. Laying in my bed I felt a sense of belonging and an acute loss of people that in reality, I lost years ago. For Helen it's been 10, for Jack it's been 3; but they are a part of me and I miss them. They appreciated me. And I felt like I belonged. I recognize that it might be helpful for me to write a list of things that make me feel that comfortable, reassuring belonging that I am in need of. And maybe, it just might be time to send my words out into the webwaves.
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