The Sweat of My Brow

For those of us for whom our primary vocation is more intellectually oriented than physical, there is something inherently pleasing about doing things with our hands when we get the chance. I think that's why so many white collar workers would like to have some sort of workshop in their backyards. Quite simply, a guy can derive much more satisfaction by being able to point at something, say a bookshelf, or a built in desk, or even a clean garage, and exclaim, "I made/did that!" than he gets when he finishes even the most brilliantly crafted memo or legal brief.

I spent four hours today cleaning our garage. I can't even say "cleaning out" our garage because when it came right down to it, I didn't throw very much away. Mainly, I rearranged what was in there. There's still stuff in there that does need to be tossed, but today was not the day to take care of that.

The Reason Why

I would never have spent my day off doing that chore, but yesterday my wife said she smelled something emanating from the garage. I investigated and discovered that a plastic jug of turpentine had developed a leak and spilled out onto the floor. Compounding the problem was that the jug had been under a large pile of stuff. So, as is not uncommon, a problem that probably should have been resolved long ago sat untended until a crisis arose.

Whatever the impetus, I now have a clean garage, but I still can't park in it.