The Manly Art Of Shelving
With great humility I would like to enter another activity/object into the vaulted library of masculine undertakings: shelving, both the noun and the verb. I love shelving. I love buying it, building it, designing it, and using it. I love what it means, too: you have stuff. Useful stuff that makes other stuff. Stuff you just like to look at. Stuff you want to read, have already read, or will never read but want others to think you’ve already read. Stuff you want to store. In my case, stuff you need to store for other people, enabling you to make a living. You’ve organized yourself in a useful fashion that is itself a reflection of your masculine competency. (Again, not that women don’t love shelving too.)
Living out at the ranch I find myself haunted by the idea that I don’t – possibly can’t – have enough shelving to meet my family’s needs. Greenhouse? Needs plant shelving. Pantry? Food shelving. Warehouses? Box shelving. Game room? Shelving. Baby’s room? Shelving.
Shelving. Shelving. Shelving.
Not everyone shares my unhealthy obsession with shelving. Walters’ family friend JB has extremely kindly (and perhaps a bit recklessly) given me access to his storage yard of used pallet racking: the El Dorado of shelving. Which is a little like locking the town “mayor” in the bar at 2 AM. (Just kidding JB! Love you baby!) A dream come true! I’ve also developed my own method for quickly constructing large amounts of shelving out of old 2 by 4’s and those fifty-cent brackets you get from Home Depot.
Which isn’t exactly on par with designing an artificial heart, but it feels impressive to me.
Ah shelving! The smell of it!