still with me

I got around to clearing the garage this past week, glad to have managed it between precipitation and the onset of frosty autumn.  The garage is still full of relics from my father's life, his goods and I, his chattel.  This is a picture of his patent screw storage shelf.  He was good that way, my father, inventive.  The lids are screwed to the plank and the jars could be unscrewed as required.  Simple.  It hung around my garden, fell over a few times, the jars broke, the screws rusted.  It had to go.  Sorry, father.  Of course he knew and I cut my hand.