TINY TOOL TIME

I love my husband of 32 years for many reasons: he is kind and funny, a wonderful dad, a great traveling companion, just a total mensch. What raises him above all other men, however, is his handiness. If you can’t be handsome, be handy, as Red Green once suggested. Thankfully, John is both. When he’s away, it’s not his aquiline features I miss, but rather his way with a hammer. And by hammer, I mean his hammer.

John pretty much built our cottage by himself. Sure, we had an architect, and framers, and plumbers and electricians, but there’s not a 2×4 in the place that he hasn’t hefted himself. It isn’t a perfect job: the roof and windows have had to be replaced over the past 20 years, and sometimes, when I look across the living space, I can tell what isn’t square. John just tells me to have another gin and tonic and to shut my talk hole. I gladly comply.

Some of the blood, sweat and tears that went into the structure is mine. I have done my share of sanding and painting. I spent most of last summer behind the cottage batting at mosquitos while stapling cedar shakes to the newly added utility porch. The glamour of cottage life is never-ending; I can sense your envy from here. This is how I came to ask for a small cordless drill for Christmas. All of John’s tools – and he has a LOT – are designed for man-sized hands. I believe I would be a decent handywoman if I just had the right sized gear. Santa heard me, and lo and behold I found a dainty drill under the tree Christmas morn. No, it’s not pink. I’m not looking for abuse from the rest of the crew.

Inspired by the thought of having an able assistant by his side, perhaps even a kind of construction nurse, John decided to kit me out even further. Last weekend, he bought me a tool box of my very own. Again, it’s a smaller version of one of the many he owns himself. It holds my drill, a set of drill bits, a tape measure, a full set of screwdrivers, various nails and screws, some picture hangers, and the most adorable mini hammer you’ve ever seen. I can’t wait to find something small to pound with it. I also slipped in some work gloves and a tube of hand lotion. I’m not a savage, after all.

What have I done with all this glory? Well, nothing much. I did hang a picture, and I tightened a couple of drawer pulls, but everything else is complicated. The toilet in the basement won’t stop gurgling, the light in the hallway is out and I can’t reach it, and the thermostat on my oven is moody. If anything could be solved with some dainty drilling or a little hammering, I’d be all over it, but alas no. So I’ve added a couple more things to my tool box: a pen and a notepad. To make a honey-do list. For John.

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