measure of affection

One of my treasures happens, because I’m lazy and forgot to put it up, to be sitting about 8 inches from my right hand at this moment.

It’s petite, but it has a sweet heft. I keep it in a kitchen drawer, where it is handily available for minor measuring tasks. Its residence there is a source of occasional exasperation to the MPM, who gets annoyed that 72 inches is too often too short once he gets to measuring.

But I refuse, no matter how many times he rolls his eyes and sighs audibly, to let its spot in the drawer be usurped by some Taiwan-made plastic-encased 10′ Craftsman.

Not only do I savor its hand-feel, but I know that that tape — a “Mezurall,” manufactured by the Lufkin Company in Saginaw, Mich., heaven knows how many years ago — is the finest token of a man’s appreciation as I could ever have.

It was given to me long ago with the words, “This was my grandfather’s. I want you to have it.”

I was reminded of the depth of its meaning when reading this excerpt, from Rick Bragg’s remarkable memoir All Over But The Shoutin’. Speaking of his maternal grandfather, he says:

“My brother Sam still has his old carpenter’s tools. He hung them, like a shrine, on the inside of his shed. He said he just likes to look at them sometimes, and doesn’t have much more to say on it than that…. I believe that to him those rusted, pitted hammers, rasps and crowbars not only remind him of the first grown man who ever treated him with any kindness and love, but also represent a simple, basic principle of a man’s worth, one a man can live a whole life by.”

It’s quite a book. I’m not done yet, but it isn’t as if there’s a suspense ending; it’s about the writing, and the writing is superb.  Recommended.