Grandad’s workshop was a mechanical wonderland. I remember the workbench where each year he would take apart the lawnmower to carefully clean each piece before putting it together again for another year of faithful service. I remember another bench cluttered with household ings and mechanical mishaps where Grandad spent many hours trying to tenderly coax them back to life. I remember sitting on a stool beside him as he showed me how to sharpen the shears or tighten my bicycle brakes or carve a dog. Grandad’s workshop was where stuff was made and re-made with pride and joy.
For 100 consecutive days I will write and post a short story (about 100 words) incorporating a randomly selected word from Afterliff: A new dictionary of things there should be words for.
ings pl. n.
Things that don’t start, won’t start or haven’t started yet.
Gone but not forgiven.