Left Behind…

In my short story memoir, “Toolbox”, I wrote about my father’s toolbox which traveled with him through the different eras of his life. Before he died, he gave it, along with worn out and mismatched tools, to my brother. As a professional mechanic, my brother didn’t want it and gave it to me. I tried to give it to my oldest, a mechanic and mechanical engineer, but he had a professional set. My middle son wasn’t interested. My nephew, a tinkerer, didn’t want it.

So the toolbox sits in the garage. I can’t bear to throw it out, and the battered box isn’t worth anything but as scrap metal. Its worth is purely sentimental.

But this week, my youngest son and daughter-in-law closed on their house. They start with only the few house gifts they’ve been given, an empty home.

A Place to Call Home

My son told me he is taking the toolbox.

It has a home.

Wait!

And… just a reminder that I will be having someone draw a name from my subscribers for the sword bookmark! I will contact the winner and ask for name, mailing address (which will not be made public), and which color tassel you want: red, black, or green. Watch your email! (I have several of them, so there will be more giveaways! If you unsubscribe… you have no chance to win!)