Monday, March 31, 2008

The Shop

It's funny how my childhood has so many common names that I thought of a proper nouns. The cargo area of our Bronco was The Back Back. A visit to my grandparent's cabin was going to The Mountains. And my grandfather's engine repair business was The Shop.

Visiting The Shop was an integral part of all my childhood visits to my grandparents. I loved seeing my uncle's blue doberman, it was so neat get the key to the coke machine and get a free soda, I could find random pieces of wire in the yard and make believe with them, I could hang out with my grandmother while she did the bookkeeping and help swat the never-ending flies. My mom would tell me the story about how my aunt protested the pin-ups of scantily clad women by hanging a PlayGirl centerfold. Happy memories.

I've wondered if having so many positive memories from that place is why I can enjoy coming into a building where the smell of oil permeates the air. Or even other industrial smells: I loved walking near the melting facility at one of my internships, because the air smelled ionized from being near something so hot. I guess there's no way to tell for sure, but it's neat to think of my career as one of the gifts my grandparents gave me.

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