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My father's daughter
Dad was a junk collector.
He'd be driving along, on his way to the store or wherever, when he'd spot scrap wood or an office chair or table on the curb. He drove a van, so he always had room to haul the treasure du jour. He'd bring it home and stash it in the garage or sneak it into the basement. He always claimed uses for all of it. The wood would be used in some building project or another, and the chairs were for the basement office that he always claimed to be working on. The biggest things he ever brought home were two old metal office desks that he somehow wrestled down the basement stairs even as Mom and I begged him repeatedly not to, please please please. He was in his early 70's when he pulled off that trick--bull-headedness on steroids and dammit he wanted those desks and he was going to have them. They're still down there--he piled stuff on them, stashed stuff in the drawers and I'm going to have a hire a hauler to get them out of there. I don't recall him working down there very much, although he did have an ancient typewriter. As I recall, he used to spend time listening to the police radio scanner and smoking. I think it was as close as he came to having a man cave.
I didn't think I'd inherited the junk gene. Then yesterday, on the way home from grocery shopping, I passed a vacant lot and noticed something like a small cart or table in the middle of the space. It was blond in color, and I wondered if it might be wood. I had gone about a mile down the road when I turned and headed back. Pulled into the lot and stopped beside the cart. It was one of those kitchen carts that you can use to hold microwaves or other small appliances, about 30 inches high with a solid wood top and two slatted shelves. Yes, it turned out to be made of wood. It felt solid, but it was missing a caster and one of the slats had worked loose. But I found the slat lying nearby and hey, real wood. So I moved the groceries around and lowered the backseats and swore and pushed things around and maneuvered the cart into Kuro's rear hatch. Got home, unloaded groceries, shoved the cart in the garage, and went to an appointment.
After I got home, I hunted online for replacement casters, which turned out to be available at most all the hardware big boxes. Then I poked around to see if I could find the cart. Tried the big box sites, and found it at Walmart. My foundling didn't have the knife block, and whoever built it hadn't bothered putting the little caps over the hex nuts that hold the thing together. In addition to the missing caster, there was a loose one that popped out because the wood around the opening had split. So I went to Home Depot and found the casters, some wood glue, and a couple of small vises. Came home, installed the casters, glued the crack, then tried to clamp the vises only to find that both of them were too small.
Now this was my dad's garage, he of the multiple axes and sledgehammers and chainsaws and a lifetime supply of socket wrenches. I knew he had to have had vises, and that I wouldn't have tossed them when I cleaned the place out. So I poked around and sure enough, found two large ones nestled on the shelf. I used one to clamp the leg until the crack closed, then left it overnight to give the glue time to cure.
This morning, I removed the vise--there's still a bit of a gap in the wood, but the teeth of the caster housing should hold things together. Wheeled the cart out into the driveway, and scrubbed it down with a solution of Murphy's Oil Soap and bleach. Let it dry a few hours in the sun, then wheeled it inside.
It's a little worn, but it fits beside the refrigerator. I've loaded it with the dutch ovens and extra chopping boards, and if I top it with my big chopping board it will make a nice extra bit of work space.
I can see Mom now, shaking her head and saying, "You're just like your father."
He'd be driving along, on his way to the store or wherever, when he'd spot scrap wood or an office chair or table on the curb. He drove a van, so he always had room to haul the treasure du jour. He'd bring it home and stash it in the garage or sneak it into the basement. He always claimed uses for all of it. The wood would be used in some building project or another, and the chairs were for the basement office that he always claimed to be working on. The biggest things he ever brought home were two old metal office desks that he somehow wrestled down the basement stairs even as Mom and I begged him repeatedly not to, please please please. He was in his early 70's when he pulled off that trick--bull-headedness on steroids and dammit he wanted those desks and he was going to have them. They're still down there--he piled stuff on them, stashed stuff in the drawers and I'm going to have a hire a hauler to get them out of there. I don't recall him working down there very much, although he did have an ancient typewriter. As I recall, he used to spend time listening to the police radio scanner and smoking. I think it was as close as he came to having a man cave.
I didn't think I'd inherited the junk gene. Then yesterday, on the way home from grocery shopping, I passed a vacant lot and noticed something like a small cart or table in the middle of the space. It was blond in color, and I wondered if it might be wood. I had gone about a mile down the road when I turned and headed back. Pulled into the lot and stopped beside the cart. It was one of those kitchen carts that you can use to hold microwaves or other small appliances, about 30 inches high with a solid wood top and two slatted shelves. Yes, it turned out to be made of wood. It felt solid, but it was missing a caster and one of the slats had worked loose. But I found the slat lying nearby and hey, real wood. So I moved the groceries around and lowered the backseats and swore and pushed things around and maneuvered the cart into Kuro's rear hatch. Got home, unloaded groceries, shoved the cart in the garage, and went to an appointment.
After I got home, I hunted online for replacement casters, which turned out to be available at most all the hardware big boxes. Then I poked around to see if I could find the cart. Tried the big box sites, and found it at Walmart. My foundling didn't have the knife block, and whoever built it hadn't bothered putting the little caps over the hex nuts that hold the thing together. In addition to the missing caster, there was a loose one that popped out because the wood around the opening had split. So I went to Home Depot and found the casters, some wood glue, and a couple of small vises. Came home, installed the casters, glued the crack, then tried to clamp the vises only to find that both of them were too small.
Now this was my dad's garage, he of the multiple axes and sledgehammers and chainsaws and a lifetime supply of socket wrenches. I knew he had to have had vises, and that I wouldn't have tossed them when I cleaned the place out. So I poked around and sure enough, found two large ones nestled on the shelf. I used one to clamp the leg until the crack closed, then left it overnight to give the glue time to cure.
This morning, I removed the vise--there's still a bit of a gap in the wood, but the teeth of the caster housing should hold things together. Wheeled the cart out into the driveway, and scrubbed it down with a solution of Murphy's Oil Soap and bleach. Let it dry a few hours in the sun, then wheeled it inside.
It's a little worn, but it fits beside the refrigerator. I've loaded it with the dutch ovens and extra chopping boards, and if I top it with my big chopping board it will make a nice extra bit of work space.
I can see Mom now, shaking her head and saying, "You're just like your father."
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Now I find myself wondering who owned it and what they used it for and how it wound up in the lot. Some of my thoughts veer off a little.
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In there we found accounting books from our childhood, a dresser filled with worn out jeans, gallon bottles of sulfuric acid he'd 'liberated' from the lab he had worked at for 25 years.... it was terrifying. The man never threw anything away that may possibly be used later :D
It's the bane of my life that I am just like him in many ways.
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In his case, and my Dad's, I blame deprivation during the Depression. My uncle fainted from hunger in school, and Dad was always hungry as well. Meanwhile, my grandmother was making payments on a piano.
While cleaning out the garage, I found the index card that they used to label my crib in the hospital where I was born. I also found one of the Father's Day cards I had given Dad. But he also saved *everything* he cleaned out of my grandmother's house, including old hairnets and spools of thread.
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But a lot of things are leaving the premises this summer. I don't have a house to hide things in -- gotta reduce the clutter.
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