From work boots and convertibles to tiny baby fingers and perfect cocktails, these are the things that Carl Bosch loves. And he knows his guy friends will understand.
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My old work boots
They fit like they were molded to my feet. They’re so old that I can’t remember when I bought them. They protected my toes from falling hammers and falling logs. They stood up to 12 degree weather in the frozen depth of February and 97 degrees of hotter than hell July. The shoelaces eventually looked like pieces of twine from a hay bailer. Literally, they are falling apart at the seams and everywhere else. I bought new boots and so far…I hate them. You can set the old ones at the end of my coffin someday and they’ll tell the tale of my life.
Driving a car
Just driving. To nowhere, it really doesn’t matter. Windows down is the best. Music really loud. Really, really loud. Long trips on small, two lane highways. Passing a car when you need to. Checking the rear view mirror. Really, just driving, especially when you’re in a stretch of country where there’s no stop signs, no streetlights. I’ve driven on the San Juan Highway in Colorado, the Hawk’s Nest in New York State, through the Irish countryside and the hills of Tuscany, and the Pacific Coast Highway in a convertible. It’s all good. Play the music, drive the car, don’t even consider talking. Actually, it’s best if you’re alone.
People’s hands
People’s hands are just kind of amazing. Baby’s tiny finger, no bigger than a slim peanut, slender hands of the young, grown-up hands with muscle and callous, old hands, gnarled and knuckled. Hands that play beautiful piano, hands kneading bread, hands around a wrench or a scalpel. The wisdom contained in hands. Life lines and love lines if you’re into palmistry. I like the stories that the hands tell. And they really do. You just have to listen and look closely.
My hammer
I’ve had this one hammer for a very long time. Men will get this totally. I don’t know where I got the hammer, maybe my father gave it to me a long time ago. It’s my “go to” hammer. I have several, but 95% of the time it’s this hammer that I pick up. It’s driven thousands of nails and pulled a few thousand more. It’s replace deck boards, built shelves, fixed a number of things and smashed a few others. Its heft feels good in my hand. We know each other and it never fails me. I’m not really even good at building, but I love that hammer.
The junk drawer
We all have one. Come on, admit it. It’s filled, I mean filled, with…yeah, junk. I could probably take the entire drawer and toss it all and not miss a thing. But when I look in there to try and clean it out a bit, I honestly cannot throw anything away. Key chains and assorted jackknives, small mementoes from trips long forgotten, a few odd photos, weird gadgets, copies of my driver’s licenses over the years, my draft notice. I love that stuff. Burn it all when I die.
Handwritten letters
Enough said. These don’t exist anymore. Maybe a birthday card here or there with a quick one line message, but hand written letters? You’ve heard of the passenger pigeon? Letters are like those faded birds. These used to be real things, but now they’re gone. People actually touched the paper that you are touching. Quaint, but gone. Long gone. I had a student in school who said that she had never received an actual letter. So I wrote her one. She thought it was awesome. And it is. Or was. Truthfully, when was the last time you received an honest-to-god letter?
People who can do real things
Repairing a car, putting up sheetrock, mountain climbing, running a fast mile, reciting a poem from memory, playing a guitar, hitting a fastball, building a piece of furniture, cooking a meal without a recipe, plumbing, climbing a tree and cutting limbs, planting a real garden, fixing a toilet, drawing a watercolor, naming birds or trees or flowers, making a perfect cocktail, knowing where Orion is in the night sky…should I go on?
Coats that I cannot throw away
It’s like the boots. They’re out of fashion. I only wear them once every few years. Sometimes I drag them out as Halloween costumes. But I love them. A leather jacket that is starting to fall apart. A denim jacket that I always wore when I thought I was cool. (I wasn’t, but the jacket made me feel cool.) A military jacket that my father gave me from WWII. My actual college jacket that is now going on 42 years old. I love them. When I die my children will immediately throw them into a big dumpster. At least I hope they do. But I won’t.
My three pets
In my life I’ve had three cats. The first two each lived sixteen years. Now I’m on my third. Each had quirks and personality traits. The first one snuggled and hung around my sister and was the “family” pet. The second one climbed trees with no claws. It got stitches and broken limbs and was lost for days. We’d go for walks and the cat would walk alongside like it thought it was a dog. It was unbowed, unbroken, the king. This last one talks, constantly, not English, but answers every single word you say to it. They were companions, confidantes, crazy, hunters, insane and amusing. If you’ve owned dogs, I bet you have stories that never end. Fish don’t count.
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Photos courtesy of author
Coming soon, Nine Weird Things I Hate.
Carl, I get it. I hope you add as many “weird” things to your list as you desire. If these few things make you happy I say “bravo, good man, bravo”.
a big smile should say all.