Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe

Hardware stores are curious places.

2x4s are actually 1 ½" X 3 ½".

A nail's measurement, or penny, refers to the price per 100
in 15th century England;
although nails are still measured by the penny,

they cost a lot more.

Cans of magnetic spray paint don’t cling to each other,

or to the shelf,

or to anything else metallic.

It is important to allow OSB boards to gas off,

but not propane refills.

Hardware stores contain many items which sport unnecessary letters;

joist, truss, auger, wrench, duct, caulk;

apparently they’re more impressive that way.

Pex are flexible

but elbows are not.

Bolts and screws only function properly

with nuts of exactly the same thread,

which never match with any of the ones

stored in numerous peanut cans in the garage.

Lightweight compound is very heavy

and heavy duty spackle is lightweight.

The marketing on power tool boxes have more to do with

the power one feels when operating the tool

than the fact that it must be plugged in.

But the foremost curiosity for me

is the tender warmth of emotion I feel

each time I step foot into a hardware store.

When I was a little girl,

my dad insisted that I go with him to buy lumber

and various other items on the list

which he always recorded on a tiny note pad in his shirt pocket.

I complained that it was boring;

there were no toys or other kids there, just plain old tools.

Sometimes we rode in his big, green dump truck

and I got to sit in the middle of the seat over the drive shaft hump.

As the truck bounced along over rough roads,

my head would bump against the hard metal roof of the cab.

When we arrived, the man at the hardware store would pat my curly, blonde head

as he muttered a gruff but awkwardly tender greeting,

then wink and slip me a nickel for the gumball machine.

Dad and the hardware store man would always talk for a long time

about tools and parts, weather and years gone by,

politics and elections, inflation and used truck trade-in prices.

On the bumpy ride home again, Dad let me count the nuts and bolts he bought.

We would talk about bicycles and rain storms,

knock-knock jokes and kids at school,

Bible stories and memory verses.

Dad has been gone for four months, now,

and I find myself longing for

just one more trip to the hardware store with him.

“Papa, can we go to the hardware store?”

“Yep.  Put your shoes on and let’s get in the truck.”

“We’ll get popcorn there, right, Papa?”

“Wite, Papa?  Ha-wayh sto?!!”

Hand in hand, my husband heads out the door with our grandchildren.

It warms my heart right down to my toes.