The Inheritance

A few years back my father gave me, my grandfather’s toolbox, as seen in the photo above. I was chuffed, it was full of tools both old and new. Indeed as a youngster I well remember the odd occasion whilst in my grandfather’s care we would ‘stooge about’ at his workbench. My favourite memory, is when he showed me how to make hot air balloons that floated up to the rafters in his loft. At other times we would make secret compartments in his house. He was big on secret compartments. One in particular I wondered if after he died whether anybody knew of its existence except me. I guess I’ll never know. Anyways my memories of this toolbox were fond ones and it reminds me of a time that was happy and carefree.

Still that was an era when my grandad owned the toolbox and now it belongs to me. The first act of sacrilege that I committed was when I removed the contemporary tools that were contained within and replaced them with the antique tools that I had collected over the years. All of a sudden, Voilá, it was transformed from a toolkit from a bygone era into a mini museum.

The second act of vandalism was when I decided to paint a mural on the front. I had the idea of painting an English pub type sign with sawyers in a sawpit. When I started searching for photographs to base my design, I came across, a book called; “The Book of Trades or Library of the Useful Arts” from 1805. Volume 1, page 68 contained a magnificent illustration of “A Sawyer”, which I duly lifted for my own purposes.

Interestingly enough, the said book was a vocational guide for young people to compare occupations and indeed such publications dated at least 200 years prior to this one. Reminding me of my recent encounter with my sons teachers who seem to want to pigeon hole him into some dead end career at the age of fifteen. The difference being at the earlier time 11 or 12 was probably more appropriate an age to begin your working life but I digress.

Having finished the mural I have concluded that I ain’t much of an artist but one day my son will inherit his great grandfathers toolbox and he will be free to do with it whatever takes his fancy. At this point however just trying to entice him from his virtual reality to stooge about with his Dad is proving to be a new challenge in itself.

 

 

 

Baghead Writes A Love Song

Here’s a little song that I wrote for my wife. Excuse the quality; it’s strictly low-fi – I recorded this with two push button cassette players to bounce down tracks.

[https://soundcloud.com/baghead-kelly/song-for-cassandra-demo]

Verse 1

More than a thousand miles away,
I send my love to my baby today.
I guess I’m just a sentimental fool,
A lovelorn poet in a world so cruel.

Verse 2

I want to run my fingers gently through your hair,
But every time Cass baby your not there.
I’m waiting for the day when you walk through my door,
And two becomes one just like it was before.

Verse 3

Eloquence escapes me at about verse three,
Rhyming couplets and poetry.
One baby two baby three wait and see,
All your babies sitting on this daddies knee.

Verse 4

I guess I’m tired of waiting this waiting game,
Whats a candle without its girlie flame.
Wait for me Cass because I’m true blue,
I’m coming back baby just to marry you.

Outro

I love you,
I need you, need you, need you,
And it won’t be long before we’re back together.

Growing Old

There was a popular television show in Australia called “Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader”, to which I took a casual interest in, having a ten year old son at the time. The shows premise was a quiz show pitting bright young kids against various adults foolish enough to fall for the trap and the ensuing public humiliation.

The afore-mentioned show has long dropped off the radar but has continued to haunt me since it aired. I don’t consider myself to be overly smart or authorative on any particular subject but being a father I assume the role of surrogate teacher and mentor outside of school hours for my youngster. My boy who has not yet entered the teenage “know-all” phase continually amazes me with his natural intuitiveness which seems to juxtapose against my increasingly crusty behaviour.

The other day I was trying to demonstrate my artistic flair by designing a t-shirt motif which was printed via bubble jet printer onto special paper and then ironed on. Simple enough for someone who used to enjoy screen printing, except my progeny pointed out with great enthusiasm that I had neglected to print the negative for a readable end product. Doh! Unfortunately this is one instance of many and although I’m proud of the little bloke for his clarity the relish in which he illuminates my latest folly only seems to undermine my self esteem and authority.

In moments like these I can only take solace in the fact that I can whip his arse at indoor wrestling. Still the writing is on the wall. Indeed I can remember when my own father could back a trailer through the eye of a needle and yet these days his car seems to be permanently in the panel beaters after his latest altercation with a supermarket carpark.

In recent times my wife and I have taken a keen interest in our garden. I would never have believed that would be the case a few years ago. I guess you can’t stop the inevitable but I only hope I can grow old with an element of coolness or is that an oxymoron? :-)

 

As a Post Script to this story; I washed the said T-shirt for the first time whislt at the same time giving the offspring a lesson at my mastery of the washing machine. Problem was that the dial that I thought for the last 10 years said 90 minutes actually read 90 degrees. Doh! again. The result was a shrivelled up and faded T-shirt motif a little hurt pride and an even more cheeky 11 year old.