In a message dated 10/18/00 7:02:35 AM Central Daylight Time, [log in to unmask]
writes:

<< let's all chip in a pound of brass (or a ton of granite) >>

When my grandfather, the master finish carpenter, loaded up the little mobile
trailer to move to Florida on retirement, the damn thing was weighed down to
the point of flattening the springs and wobbled when test dragged across the
pavement. Seems he had stuffed the little compartments where spare emergency
tools were supposed to go with boxes of assorted springs of all sizes and
descriptions, just in case you never know when you will need a good spring,
and plastic Metemucil jars full of salvaged brass gas fittings. The brass was
his emergency fund lest there be another depression sneaking up real quick to
ruin his sunny days.

Later... in the throes of his diabetes, alzheimers and parkinson's I visited
in Florida and while he was hiding behind a stuffed chair, crouched on the
floor and shivering in fear, he complained about the witch that was
threatening to throw away his brass collection... requesting that I grab it
and keep it safe.

One time we were sent out to help him buy winter rubber boots and we picked
up a pair of fluffy pink slippers along the way. He had a real good time
showing up at the door of their apartment and asking grandmother if she liked
his new boots. One of our last jokes together.

Toward the end he spent a lot of time down near the baseboard fiddling with
trying to pick out incorrectly nailed finishing nails with a walnut shell
pick and toenail clippers and complaining that the boss had gone crazy.

][<en