Bob could fix anything from airplanes to autos to plumbing. He had the accumulated tools of a man whose life was about keeping things well tuned. So, when his wife Ruby asked me to go into the garage and choose some tools to take home with me, I had to work hard not to weep. “Bob would have wanted you to have them,” she said.
Many years ago when my grandpa Robinson passed, after his funeral, we gathered at his home for what amounted to a love-fest. “Grandpa would have wanted you to have this,” his sons and grandchildren said as they gifted each other with grandpa’s worldly possessions. The decisions were made according to history and need. “He knew you loved this and would want it to go to you.” My dad looked at me and asked me to choose something. The only thing I wanted was an old nutcracker. It was falling apart because he used it so often. He’d held it in his hand. It was ordinary and useful and in one of the few precious times I sat with him, we cracked nuts, laughed, and talked about nothing important. I wanted something he touched. Sometimes when I need some simple wisdom or some laughter in a dark time, I hold the nutcracker and wonder what he would tell me. It never fails. I always hear a whisper of advice or something that makes me smile.
Going through the garage I chose tools that Bob used often. I wanted the tools that were worn and fit his hand.
I am, for the first time in my life, responsible for the upkeep of a home, my home. I’m new to repairing faucets and fixing gutters. It is my hope that when I have no idea how to fix something, I can choose a tool that Bob held, hold it in my hand, and ask Bob what I should do. It’s my bet that without fail, I’ll hear his saucy whisper of guidance. More than likely I’ll hear a joke (off-color, as my mother might say) and the laugh that made his shoulders rise. He’ll take the toothpick out of his mouth before saying something like, “Ah hell, just start. You got the right tool what else do you need?”