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.
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!
