Sawdust and a ball glove.
Hidden in the sawdust.
I’ve been on an adventure as of late. My guy is a bit of a photo nut. OK, “bit” may be a tad understated. He’s as far over the edge as I am; that’s probably one of the reasons we get along so well.
And so begins the tale of my new love – a business adventure of sorts that combines both our love of photography and his love of woodworking. I kinda like it too, though.
Working side by side in the shop is a test of patience (his) and he is teaching me how these things all fit together.
He’s a creator; so was my father. Dad would be proud of this guy and the way he gets all messy with sawdust, pencil tucked under his hat… just like Dad used to.
Router bits, a glasscutter, barn boards, glazing points. I am learning a new, but somewhat old lingo. Dad puttered in his shop in the basement making things like birdhouses, shelves or boxes. He didn’t start this craft until late in his life and then before I knew it, he was gone.
For the past six years his tools of the trade have been collecting dust in the basement. My guy and I have been picking up our new and used tools and getting quite a collection already. Router bits? Hey I think I have some of them at the house. T-square? Yes, I have one of those, too. What about clamps? Well, the C-clamps weren’t quite what we were looking for but I did find something else down there this week that brought a tear to my eye and a lump to my throat.
Dad’s old ball glove was poking out of a wooden drawer that was fused shut with age and dampness. I remembered him teaching me how to throw a curve ball. He would catch for me every night of the week; for hours at a time – until dark or my arm fell off. I salvaged Dad’s old cowhide, and hugged it tightly to my chest as I hunted for more things my guy and I could use.
When I stumbled upon the rusty, old picture frame, I could only smile through the tears. It was there on the shelf amongst the clutter of wood chips, sawdust and cobwebs, was one of my first business cards. This one had my photo on it. He said he always liked that picture of me; probably because I wasn’t wearing my weathered, old ball cap.