There’s
no such thing as scrap wood
“What’s
this”, he asked eying the banana tree
Which was a gift from my mother.
An
over-priced gadgety, last-minute, got to get gift item,
Of
which I’m sure she thought, “now this is neat”.
“How
much did it cost”, he probed.
The
answer of course I knew because she had,
In a
motherly sort of way left the price tag on.
Seven dollars and ninety-nine cents.
“This
would be easy to make”, he said
With
his hand upon his chin,
Eying the be-hooked arc upon its wooden stage.
“Get
me a piece of paper and a pencil.”
Soon,
all who ate bananas had trees
To hang them on.
Where
the yellow-jacketed fruit would wait
In
unknown anticipation of what fate may have in store for it.
“Uncle
Sam’s got something for you.”
The greeting upon their arrival in
Out
of the bag came a wooden box,
Embellished with slender slats the length of the top.
(A
dish drainer, a trivet, a musical instrument)
“It’s
to cut bread on”, beams Aunt Ro.
“You
see the crumbs fall through the slats.”
Of
course, what else could it be?
And
I’m the one with the Master’s degree.
“Made it out of scrape wood”.
Offers
Uncle Sam, dubiously.
They
sell in the catalogs for over $50.
Soon,
all who broke bread did so neatly.
And
it will please those who were not of the first to receive,
The
model they posses is “new and improved”
Precisely
designed to hold & cut a loaf to Tops Italian bread
Wheeling
and dealing and a supply was had,
Of
blades out of which he fashioned knives,
To cut the loaves upon the breadboards.
Also sold at a premium in many a gourmet catalog.
A shortage of counter space?
Or in need of a place to knead?
A
bit-o-barter with the village cabinetry shop,
And
Uncle Sam was fast to work.
With
laminated particle board in hand,
It
is amazing the use one can think,
For
the part of the hole,
That
is now a sink.
No
more burnt fingers
Retrieving hot toast.
Or
need for awkward potholders
To check on the roast.
I
can just imagine the wheels
Turning
in Uncle Sam’s mind
Upon
spying the small table in the Ortolano living room.
Needless
to say,
Patty
was out one side table for many a day,
While the prototype was being fashioned.
So
that others may have their beverage of choice
Close
at hand.
We,
among many others
Were fortunate enough to
procure one of these fine tables.
And
we, were most fortunate to receive a second
Just
two weeks ago.
A toddler and a kitchen, not exactly a match made in heaven.
Uncle
Sam, how hard would it be?
To
fashion a do-hickey that would fit like so,
So
into cabinets the little one will not go.
A
three-bedroom house
With four bedrooms worth of furniture.
A
baby on the way,
Sure
hate to put that vanity down stairs.
Hey
Uncle Sam, how hard would it be?
Let’s
(proverbial let’s) make a changing table
That
will fit right on top.
More
paper and pencils, measurements and diagrams
Out
of scrap wood was born
A changing table for the baby.
A safe place indeed to care for the tot.
Perfectly made out of love and scrap wood.
Child-sized
coat racks,
Squirrel-proof feeders for the birds.
Oh,
and as for the bread box,
It
does work great as a trivet.
To
his grandchildren;
Cherish
your clocks.
Let
them always remind you
Of
the time you had with your grandfather.
There
are only four clocks,
There
are only four of you.
In
years to come, when your own children
Look
to the clock up on the wall,
Tell
them of their great-grandfather.
He
was a great man, a great innovator.
He
was family to you, and friend to many.
Tell
them, he was friend to scrap wood.
In loving memory of Samuel Ark, Jr.
Kristen
C Lockwood