A Garage is a Man's Castle

I grew up as a car girl...spending every Friday night at the race track for as long as I can remember. I remember being a little girl and watching my dad build race engines in our garage. I would climb up onto this brown wooden stool and sit there for hours watching him put rings on the pistons, then carefully drop each piston into a hole, checking to make sure each one was set correctly and there was enough piston-to-valve clearance. Of course, back then, I had no idea what was going on, I just loved to watch my dad work. It was like magic to me. The stuff that happened in that garage was all a show of skill, dedication, and hard work. In the 28 years I have know my father, the garage has always been a place for him to blow off steam, relax, think...the best kind of therapy. I never understood it, but my dad has always had a clean garage, mostly tidy, swept floors, each tool hanging in exactly the right spot, so, when you are in a hurry, you can go right to that place. Nowadays, the garage is also my mom's sanctuary. In the summer, it looks like a flower shop, full of plants, flowers, mulch, tools, and whatever else it takes to make her lawn look fabulous. It is the same thing, a place to retreat to, a place that is safe. Every time I look at our race shop, I can't help but smile and think of how many hours have been spent in there. Getting cars ready to run, bloody knuckles from that bolt that wouldn't loosen, the number of jugs of fuel that has been filled. If walls could talk...