Twice, actually. First she went to Mexico.
¡Chicas de fiesta en México!
I was in Yosemite when she left. JFran was in good company and my inner introvert was secretly looking forward to a week of debauchery featuring more sleep and more takeout.
With JFran’s car at my disposal, a little SUV at least 267 percent more useful than my coupe, I shook an angry fist at a darkening sky: this was the week I’d conquer the garage.
We got ourselves a fine garage now. There isn’t a massive crack down the middle leading to the underworld, or a hazmat stash of lead paint cans corroding in the corner, or a loft stacked with moldy carpet covered with thick rippling layers of dust (yes, all features of prior garages). But, after three years as the dumping ground while we sorted out the house, it wasn’t living up to its potential.
I wanted a garage that looked like I was rolling with the Fast & Furious.
I had unpacked lots of boxes of tools, along with collections of nails and screws and plumbing parts, squirreling them away in various shelves and drawers. My tool inventory ranges from inherited museum-worthy 19th-century chisels to a shiny new miter saw I got to rebuild our old deck. That miter saw is the only thing I can easily lay hands on — it’s too big to live anywhere but on top of the workbench. Which also makes it, in every sense, my biggest tool.
I have no idea where anything else is, so if I need more than the hero drawer stuffed with a box cutter, duct tape, and my favorite Phillips screwdriver, I’m off on a voyage of discovery.
My quest began with e-waste. As the designated data protector, everyone drops their old PCs off with me, and the pile had swallowed what was left of the workbench. There’s a special joy in cracking open and smashing a hard drive, and this time I brought a new weapon to the fight: a little red right-angle cordless drill I got to help with earlier moves. Even the teeniest of the Torx laptop screws surrendered before my newfound tool might.
It took me twenty minutes to find where I’d stashed the sledgehammer, but once I did, I fell into a groove: uncover hard drive, crack it open, bash with sledgehammer, feel like Thor.
The PCs were surrounded by a lush cornucopia of gnarled network cables, orphaned modems, busted headphones, and decades of dead X-mas lights. I dropped down the back seats, squishing the lot into the back of JFran’s hatchback, along with a couple of XL items — an old microwave that made my sciatica squeal and a chonky inkjet printer that had rebuffed my every effort to fix it.
The local e-waste drop-off was a dream. Dude popped out to help me toss the big stuff, we shot the sh*t about his biz, and I was back on the road hunting down my favorite Bánh mì sandwich. JFran was still gone, but now she had a 33 percent better chance of making it in through the garage without a bike falling on her. And best of all, I could finally see the workbench. I still didn’t know where anything was, but at least I could reach all the places tools might be hiding.
At this point, if I can’t do a job with the tools I’ve got, it might be a job for someone else. I know a bunch of them are useless — now that I’m carrying peak cordless drill, will I ever use that vintage hand brace drill? But you can’t get rid of that stuff — Thor might come looking for it someday.
I’ve tried to pass along some of what I’ve learned. Chaos Monkey and I put up these shelves, and many tools were involved.
JFran came back. I picked her up at 1 AM, she coughed on me for the better part of a week, and then left me again. This time down to Oakland, where mothers and nieces are involved. It’s best to sit this one out as well.
But this time I was here for the exodus, and I was sad to see her go.
Unsupervised again, I took on the car that lives in said garage. The aforementioned impractical sports car. My dad helped me get it after I blew up my super practical truck (I’m more than a little embarrassed to admit it ran out of oil). It’s a 2008 G37 Coupe. I got it 15 years ago from a guy who made an impulse purchase, buying the top trim and getting stuck with big payments. I’d never have gotten myself a car like that.
Six-speed stick, not many of those around anymore. When I was working, it mostly sat in the garage. Occasionally it got me to the airport, so it could sit there too. We get out more now, mostly me and a bike off to ride with friends. With the rear seat down and a strategically placed chunk of plastic, I Jenga the bike into the teeny trunk. The tech is old: I have to thread an RCA-to-USB cable around the stick and over my lap to my phone. That’s 50 years of tech spanning one wire.
She needed some TLC. I filled a crack in the dash, evicted a small ecosystem of bugs from the rear window, cleared out collections of leaves from under the hood, finally Armor-All’ing and Windex’ing the works. Then out for a spin over curvy vineyard roads. It’s been nearly two years since my dad died and my memories have evolved to mostly a positive glow without the ragged edge I used to carry. That day I felt him sitting next to me, going on a joyride together.
Coming back home, I hit up the Korean hole-in-the-wall I'd been eyeing, rolling back into my now clean garage with my now clean car plus a steaming bowl of spicy bulgogi. I snapped a pic to commemorate a Fast & Furious moment that won’t last.
Some days it’s enough to keep up with what you’ve got — mind, body, and soul. There’s a new sprout in my family tree — I just became a great-uncle, which makes my dad a great-grandpa, and JFran says she’s coming back tomorrow.
There's no way I'm showing the wife what you did to the garage. She's been on me forever to clean ours.
I wish my garage to be as tidy as yours