Dammmit

I meant to edit that post and add a picture and a link to this article about tools and a paragraph or two about what I thought it might say about the rest of the stuff in that post. So, I did. Then there were two posts. Duplicates. So I deleted one of them. Then the other one by mistake. Then I couldn't remember what I wrote except that it was about Daddy's tools, dirty dishes, posture and other ramblin's. Drats! So I just quit and drove over the J's and had a BLT. Now I'm gonna do the wash and go get some milk and trash bags. Seeya.

Update

Here's the part I lost. My daughterpooh got it somewhere and sent it back to me. Nice Catch W!

But I lost some of the cars in the train of thought so for what it's worth, here's the first part. Maybe I'll do better next time. Or maybe I'll even figure out where I was later. But, right now the timer is beeping that my laundry is done and I still don't have milk.

My dad seldom asked anyone to get anything for him or put it up when he was done with it. Mom didn't do that much either. I guess that's the way grownups are. They usually did their own plus the other and never seemed to notice the difference. I remember rarely ever hearing either one of them say something like, "Sweety, get me.....". When one of them wanted something they just did it without ever thinking someone else could. That probably kept them skinny too.

In dad's shop he always expected us to put tools back where they belonged when we finished with them. That meant when we finished with the tool, not after the job was done or a couple of days later. That was so tiring to my brain but that's the way he did things.

Dirty dishes drove him nuts. I always thought they were supposed to drive someone else [anyone but me] nuts. If he got one out and used it, it was usually washed and put up when he finished drinking or eating. He seldom left it to do later because someone would have to do it and I don't think that it would be settled with him until he at least checked on it and by then he could just as easily do it himself. That was not my practice then. But now I'm doing stuff more his way. Oh no, I'm becoming my dad. Oh well I guess that's not all bad.

But, I can remember heaps of dirty dishes rotting away in our kitchen sometimes when I was a kid. and being busted for letting them go for days, sometimes with a few tools rusting in the pile too. Somehow, I always thought it was not my mess or if I did feel a twinge of discomfort, I figured it was just that the folks had their bluff in and that they must have contributed to the stack just to make us kids want to do something about it. Their bluff must have worked on me because now things just go better when I wash the pan as part of the cooking process.

If we wanted to do stuff with dad or help with something he was up to, we had to really try to stay ahead of him and most of the time that was pretty, shall we say, educational. He seldom sat down so there was always plenty opportunity to do something with him.

When he did finally light, as he called it, mostly at the end of the day, he sat straight up, at least until he got a recliner. Even then, he didn't lean back in it much. When he was done at the end of the day, he didn't set around much before he went to bed. Only occasionally would we find him horizontal anywhere else. Reclining to him, was just another word for slouching.

I guess that's probably natural to everyone and not just special of my mom and dad. But I still say stuff like; "To this day, it makes me uncomfortable to slouch on the couch or in a chair or pass up the chance to wash my glass or put away any tool I find laying around, whether I used it or not." Memories of dad's doin's float up in a lot of those things if I stop to think about them much.

And you thought this was going to be about something.