On Leaving America – Part 27

The house is finally as good as it gets and Lou has hurt her back. She’s taking a much needed rest at last. The packing stuff is pretty much done. Now realtors are passing though with clients. Cats must be shut up in the small bedroom. Bucky doesn’t like it, claws the door, but Amber simply takes a nap. My housework stays about the same. Now doing the garage – workbench and tools.
What tools will work in metric world? Will I need English tools as well? Should I take drill bits? I must have at least $600 worth if drill bits and so many cans of paint! A fifteen year collection, some were here when I arrived and never opened. Millions of nuts and bolts and nails must be gotten rid of. Those of you who frequent hardware stores know you pay sixty cents for a single quarter-inch by two inch bolt . . . then forty cents for a nut that fits and a quarter more for the washer. It’s cheaper to forget the washer and just drill a hole in the quarter. I’m sitting on a fortune in nuts and bolts and screws and hooks. Must give it all way. The hermit monks would be so happy. Weights’ like this there is no need to carry, they would tell me. Of what use?

I’ve discovered more bones of my father. Packed my his metal hard hat, and my plastic one from when I worked refineries. I’ve found his welding tools, a cutting torch, some brazing tips—a pair of double pressure gauges, beautiful in solid brass that glows like gold and sparkling thick glass lenses . . . from the late thirties or early forties—no plastic parts. He was good at what he did, bought fine equipment and took care of it. They’re beautiful. I’ll never have the slightest use for them, but have so little left of him, the hard hat and these tools, a ring—his father’s, and the pocket bible that he took with him to church each Sunday. Memories of course weigh nothing and do not need to be packed or shipped – take up no space and are available when called upon . . . sometimes appear from nowhere and completely unexpected.

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About Bruce Louis Dodson

Bruce Louis Dodson is an American expat now living in Borlänge, Sweden with his wife, cat and dog. He is an artist and world traveler who writes fiction and poetry and practices photography in his less than copious free time. His work has appeared in: Barely South Review - Boundaries Issue, Blue Collar Review, Pulsar Poetry (UK), Foliate Oak, Breadline Press West Coast Anthology . The E-buffet, Qarrtsiluni, Struggle Magazine, Pearl Literary Magazine, Contemporary Literature Review: India, 3rd Wednesday, Sleeping Cat Books - Trip of a Lifetime Anthology, Northern Liberties Review, Authors Abroad - Foreign & and Far Away Anthology, The Path, Page & Spine, The Crucible, Sleeping Cat Books -Trips of a Lifetime, Vine Leaves, Pirene's Fountain,Tic Toc Anthology - Kind of a Hurricane Press, Cordite Poetry Review, Buffalo Almanac and mgv2.
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4 Responses to On Leaving America – Part 27

  1. “Memories of course weigh nothing and do not need to be carried. They take up no space and are available when called upon . . . sometimes appear from nowhere and completely unexpected.”

    Beautiful! And so true too.

  2. Lovely post Bruce… and I hope you keep those tokens of your father, as well as the memories… Artifacts made with good honest materials are treasures in today’s synthetic plastic world.
    Keep those catty girls and boys talking…

  3. Alice says:

    I am exhausted from watching you pack. What a roller coaster of emotions too–blessing on your new home.

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