Hammer Down

Back in Missoula college days I took a carpentry job working for a nice guy who overlooked my lack of carpentry skills. We discussed this and I lamented the gaps in my woodworking abilities but he insisted my ignorance was trumped by the fact that I appeared for work and was not bankrolling a drug habit with my earnings. There had been other employees who did not share these qualities.

So we got along. And he insisted I purchase proper tools, sending me back to the store when I first appeared with a cut-rate pounder, measurer and pouches to carry them in.

I explained I didn't have much in the way of money, which is why I was working, so he gave me a framing hammer of his own.

I've always liked that hammer. It ain't fancy. It's a Stanley. No big whoop. But, you know, it was a gift from my boss.

And I've pounded nails with it for, what? fifteen-ish years? Also pounded my thumb with it once or thrice. I have a fondness for that hammer.

Then I broke the goddamn thing the other day. Prying a nail out of some board and c-c-c-rack, there went the wood.

I put a new handle on there, but ah, it's not the same.