Tale of Two Tape Measures
Have you ever had a beloved tool that broke your heart when you thought you had lost it?
The tape measure on the left was mine. I bought it in 1978, as I was learning all the basic DIY skills I had never been taught growing up. (Thanks, DAD. Even though he was a skilled carpenter, plumber, electrician and auto mechanic, his attitude toward my learning those skills was that they were menial tasks and I should, "Be a doctor. Then you can pay someone to do those things." Wrong again, DAD.)
But I learned. Plastering, wiring, painting, tiling, plumbing, laying decorative brick pavers in the garden, installing a worm-drive garage door opener, changing the dogbone and rebuilding the headlight motor in a Fiero, fix-it projects in my mom's house in Chicago and my Dad's in Bellwood, putting in a new water heater, turning my bedroom into a home office, complete with built-in Ikea desks, which took quite a bit of ripping down to fit into that relatively tiny space.
And that battered little 8 foot tape measure was there, every step of the way. So when I thought I'd lost it earlier this year, (and I'm not ashamed to say it) I cried like a baby.
I couldn't cry too long, though -- the projects never end in an old house. So with a heavy heart, I bought the 12-foot tape measure on the right, and kept right on working.
Then, getting the Caprice ready for a road trip to Springfield in October, I found the old one in between the front seat cushions! More tears, this time joyous ones.
I almost thought of retiring it and putting it up on the shelf, and letting the 12-footer take over. But, no. Stanley built it to work, and work it shall.
Tale of Two Tape Measures
Have you ever had a beloved tool that broke your heart when you thought you had lost it?
The tape measure on the left was mine. I bought it in 1978, as I was learning all the basic DIY skills I had never been taught growing up. (Thanks, DAD. Even though he was a skilled carpenter, plumber, electrician and auto mechanic, his attitude toward my learning those skills was that they were menial tasks and I should, "Be a doctor. Then you can pay someone to do those things." Wrong again, DAD.)
But I learned. Plastering, wiring, painting, tiling, plumbing, laying decorative brick pavers in the garden, installing a worm-drive garage door opener, changing the dogbone and rebuilding the headlight motor in a Fiero, fix-it projects in my mom's house in Chicago and my Dad's in Bellwood, putting in a new water heater, turning my bedroom into a home office, complete with built-in Ikea desks, which took quite a bit of ripping down to fit into that relatively tiny space.
And that battered little 8 foot tape measure was there, every step of the way. So when I thought I'd lost it earlier this year, (and I'm not ashamed to say it) I cried like a baby.
I couldn't cry too long, though -- the projects never end in an old house. So with a heavy heart, I bought the 12-foot tape measure on the right, and kept right on working.
Then, getting the Caprice ready for a road trip to Springfield in October, I found the old one in between the front seat cushions! More tears, this time joyous ones.
I almost thought of retiring it and putting it up on the shelf, and letting the 12-footer take over. But, no. Stanley built it to work, and work it shall.