two shells

As kids we took it for granted that Dad could fix our toys, and of course we boasted about his skills to friends who then brought their equipment for a makeover. His workshop became a hospital for toasters, vacuum cleaners, sound systems, blenders – you name it, he had a wrench to fit. He would have been justified in saying he didn’t have time, but I never heard him say it. This has always been his way of making the world a better place, and I have a hunch that he takes a bit of a perverse delight in outwitting big business and built-in obsolescence.

I’ve seen Dad absent-mindedly pat a stereo on the head as it went out the door: “Live on! Play another song!”