Nuts and Bolts

by Pat Antonopoulos

Once upon a time...
He told me, with a tinge of annoyance, that I would probably be content living in a home that looked like a motel room. This said as he sorted through a box of my discards swept off any horizontal surface touched by a dust cloth. My box never made it to the recycle, but stayed in his stash of 'stuff' that will be useful in that someday-time.

We come close to agreeing to disagree, but I always hold back. I avoid the barn where all these treasures are stored. Bob and our oldest grandson are the only two people who understand that filing system.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I freely admit that my former classrooms did not have a clear horizontal surface. That filing system was perfect, right? And my desk next to this computer never needs dusting as it is covered with papers, toys and books. But my clutter is different, right again?)

Cannot remember a time when Bob actually handed me a dish of deserved crow, but today I serve it to myself.

Yesterday, he rummaged through his boxes to find the last part needed to repair the 1964 Ford Tractor that mows the field and moves the winter snow.

With cobbled parts, he is now in the process of repairing the huge sprayer needed for our hundred plus trees. Prone on a piece of carpet, covered with grease and sweat, Bob looks up as I walk towards the shed and he says, "What's up?"

"The black ball hooked to the little chain inside the tank won't shut off. I have tried everything and the water keeps running."

"OK". And he is on his way to fix the problem. Meantime, the phone rings and a son asks if Bob has a particular item needed for a project. As usual, the answer is yes and the item will be supplied.

When he sees the mess I am making as I try to fill miniature cupcake pans with thick batter, Bob quietly reminds me that I tossed a old cake decorating tool that would be perfect for this job. "I'll get it from the plastic bag of kitchen stuff that is wrapped in foil, third drawer from the top, back room of the shed."

Baked, boiled or fried, I deserve a flock of crow meat and Bob deserves his favorite dinner every night of the week. And not surprising, he really does love left-overs!