Tools of My Own
A couple of weekends ago, we called an all-hands-on-deck family garage-cleaning day. We needed help—desperately. Over the last year, Craig and I had fallen into the habit of putting things “out in the garage,” which really meant anywhere: along the edges, on the floor, or somewhere in the vague vicinity of Craig’s workbench.
We usually tackle a full garage overhaul every fall, but last year I only cleaned out my side. That was it. The rest never happened. So this year, we drafted everyone. Craig reorganized his tools, Kadon and Luka hauled things to the back shed, and I swept and blew out dust, leaves, and whatever unidentifiable debris had settled in since the last solar eclipse.
As we put everything back where it belonged, I noticed something I’ve always known: most of the tools in our house belong to Craig. The garage proves it. The basement confirms it. And honestly, I’m fine with that. I don’t need all the tools. I just need the ones that are mine.
It was early in our relationship when Craig gave me my own Craftsman tool case. Black on the outside, bright red on the inside—like a secret signal that something special lived there. Five small hand pliers rested in neat elastic loops: one for cutting wire, a few for bending, and one with a barely bent nose that worked perfectly for detail work.
They felt simple and precise, sized exactly right for the kind of crafting and jewelry-making I love. Not big, heavy, “he-man” utility tools. They didn’t come from his overflowing drawers of pliers, hammers, and wrenches.
These tools were mine. No one would ever mistake them for his. They would never disappear into one of his scavenger-hunt tool drawers. When he gave them to me, I felt completely seen—known, even.
Craig has a work area in the garage with shelves and mammoth toolboxes that sit directly on the floor, packed with wrenches, socket sets, and who knows what else in every imaginable size. He also claims nearly half of the basement, complete with an industrial dust collection system and bins filled with mystery electrical and plumbing components.
I won’t even mention the junk drawers in the kitchen—the ones holding miscellaneous Phillips screwdrivers, zip ties, current meters, and random bolts that absolutely do not belong there.
More recently, he expanded his territory to an entire “post-retirement” project area at the Hoffman Homewoods building. It’s filled with tools—big tools—that I can’t even identify, let alone pretend to understand. One of his favorites lives in a room all by itself: something called a CNC router. It’s computer-controlled and so far out of my league that I wouldn’t know where to begin turning the thing on.
I know that in long marriages, men often claim whole rooms, while women often make do with shared spaces. Take the bonus room above the kitchen. I claimed it long ago. It has hardwood floors and beautiful sliding doors in front of the storage area. And yet, once again, it’s currently claimed—this time by Luka and his family while they live with us.
That’s why my little tools matter so much. They match my creativity and fit my hands. It isn’t about size or ownership—it’s about recognition.
Of all the gifts Craig has ever given me—or that we’ve bought together—flowers, furniture, kitchen gadgets—the one that felt the most intimate was a handful of tiny pliers. He didn’t give me tools to fix something. He gave me tools to make things. They aligned with my identity, my creativity, my way of expressing myself. It was a quiet, unmistakable I see you.
Many years have passed since he gave me that gift. I still can’t find anything in the garage, and half of his tool collection remains a mystery to me. But I always know exactly where my tiny pliers are. At this stage of my life, it matters less to have every tool and more to have the ones that help me build the person I’m becoming.
He can keep the garage, the basement, the shop at Hoffman Homewoods. I’ll keep my tiny black box of pliers—and the love and space it represents.
Click here to check out other Sidetracked opinions
Click here to listen to the Sidetracked Legacies podcast
Want to create your own legacy? Join the Sidetracked Sisters and start now!
Ever thought about working with a Life Coach? Are you a woman over 50 who feels unfulfilled in your long-term relationship? Lisa can help you rekindle love and joy, and avoid a “gray divorce.” Check out Lisa Hoffman Coaching.
#sidetrackedsisters #sidetrackedlisa #sidetrackedlegacies #legacywriting #legacystories #writeyourownlegacy #LisaHoffmanCoaching
