Until I returned to Australia in 1985, I had never held a hammer in my hand. This continued for several years until I bought "Riverbend" in 1993 when the constant need for repairs and maintenance made me buy my first hammer, and then another one, and then more and more tools, until I had a workshop full of them.
Not that I have used many of them which means that many have slowly rusted away. Today was as good a day as any to take stock of the whole situation and to sort out what's still usable and what is not, and I spent all afternoon inside the workshop to create some order out of chaos.
This was a one-man's job, and I had to point to my "ABSOLUTELY NO NAGGIN" sign whenever Padma wanted to give me unwanted advice.
As much as I would've liked to talk, this was not the time for it, as there was already much to reflect on and to remember, as I looked at the old car signage with which I driven around Canberra for over ten years.
There were the indestructible plastic sandals from my days on Thursday Island which I found in a dark corner. It seems so long ago and so far away as if it had never happened at all. Are you reading this, Hubert?
And there, sitting on a shelf that wanted to remind me of life's brevity and next to a mouse trap, was a 'chinlone', a Burmese caneball, which I had often played with my staff in Rangoon more than fifty years ago.
Looking at the clock, I realised it was five o'clock somewhere and perhaps time to hurry things along and bring things to an end ...
... but not before I had said 'hello' to the young possum I had discovered when cleaning out the upper shelves. I even brought him/her a banana.
Time for one last look at the "I love Jeddah" and "I love Saudia" sign ...
... before closing up for the day.
Thamer, I think you'd feel quite at home in my workshop!
