About ten years ago I bought a small hand-held sander. I had a vision for something but who knows now what. I do remember it was more difficult that I expected and therefore it sat in its case in a closet and escaped being taken to Goodwill in one of my purges.
Over Thanksgiving 2021, three of our kids and I tackled the cleaning and organizing of the garage at the farm and in the process found all kinds of treasures: my paternal grandfather’s trunk from one of the two world wars in which he fought stamped with his name and data; a box of my maternal uncle’s belongings from his pre-WWII life; lots of old tools that belonged to my dad and other men in the family; and various other things that were either claimed by someone, designated for Goodwill, or took a ride in the Gator to the burn pile.
Among the treasures I deemed of value was a red-stained wooden box with rope handles and a lid someone had covered in a piece of sheet metal. It seemed solid and a worthy container for someone, so I offered it to my nephew who loves to work with wood. He declined. The wood box returned to the garage and sat on the floor where it collected stuff on its lid for almost two years.
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