Dust had hidden many memories

Dust has hidden many memories over three decades in our home.
When we moved into our home almost 32 years ago, we began a complete remodelling. Lathe and plaster were pulled from the walls and ceilings.
There were no clean jobs in the remodelling.
I can remember one evening, as the floor lay strewn with lathe and plaster three feet deep, my father had been there to help me and my wife began laughing at the two of us. We weren’t sure what the laughter was all about until she said, “You have to look at yourself in the mirror.”
We did—and laughed with her.
It had been a hot day and we were soaked through with sweat. We were as black as could be covered in soot from more than 70 years of coal burning, which had penetrated every nook and cranny.
All that black dust and soot clung to every pore of our bodies.
This past weekend, I finally decided it was time to paint my woodworking shop. The drywall has been up for 30 years, but it had never received a coat of paint.
I began by brushing down the ceiling that had collected the finest dust particles. As I came down from the ceiling, the old kitchen cupboards that had come with the home had more than an inch of dust built up on their tops.
I vacuumed it away and discovered a plastic sword that had been taken from one of my sons who couldn’t help himself by hitting others with it.
I found a birdhouse-building book I had taken a pattern from to create kits for Cubs when I had been their leader. I also found some Cub-Car kits that were left.
I found an outdoor timer that still was in the package. I discovered a roll of fibreglass that my father had purchased to re-fibreglass his cedar skiff and had never used.
I accidently banged on the springs of the garage door and dust drifted down like a snowstorm. Thirty years of woodworking dust had accumulated and gravity was catching up.
Over Saturday and Sunday, I must have vacuumed and swept the floor a dozen times a day and filled half-a-garbage bag with dust and cobwebs.
I always would create extra parts for my woodworking projects. That way, if I made an error, I had a replacement. Or if I misplaced something, I could continue on.
Over time, I have misplaced more than a few parts and moving workbenches, a lot of those pieces were rediscovered. I had never really gotten down on my stomach with a flashlight to look underneath to the back to find those pieces.
Wood pieces were not the only discovery as every tool bench was moved. Screwdrivers and pliers that had gone missing were found (some I did not even recognize they have been missing for so long).
When we began refinishing the house, we purchased some turn-of-the-century brass handles doorknobs and hinges. Not all were used and the extras were safely stored away.
Under thick dust, I picked up this box. The dust drifted off on to my shirt and I immediately remembered where my safe location for the hardware was.
Inside the box, the brass was still shiny. And the many of the old glass handle door knobs that were replaced also were found.
I remember how excited my wife and I were to discover and purchased those brass knobs and plates.
Every time something was moved, years of dust fell off and an old memory was rekindled. My son’s first hockey sticks, their skates, my tube skates, tennis racquets all were uncovered.
Most of what I found is now destined for the garbage. All had been saved thinking that at some time I would find a use for it, though we seldom did.
The collection of articles has grown over the years. The dust had hidden and preserved the memories.

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