I'm really ashamed at the quality of my last blog. Maybe next time, I'll do better.
So I got rid of some boxes tonight, blessing another couple people and cleaning out my garage. My garage is what I pictured my attic would look like, with my garage and pantry added into it. It's cold, there is stuff everywhere, and it smells faintly of motor oil. I can count on two hands the number of bladed implements in there that I have never used. There are various and sundry pots and potsherds lying about, and the excess food is sprawled about on the ground.
And yet, there is some curious measure of pride that I have in this place. There's the ability to prune a tree, when I get up the energy to do it. I have a seeder to fix my nasty lawn, when we get rid of the dog. I can sharpen a blade, change oil, cut a piece of timber, drill holes in wood and metal...
So much potential. So little practical application. And on my worst days, it feels like it's a reflection of me.
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