Idea House

When I began constructing my Idea House I gave myself two months. It was located behind my living quarters. I had the tools, space and know how.
Back round--I was having difficulty keeping my ideas organized. They were drifting to parts of the house I never went or hiding between towels, under furniture, in closets. They were no good to me if I couldn't access them.
Several were behind the wallpaper. I lost my temper and decided to take action. Thus the Idea House.
I was encouraged by Carl, my neighbor, who had built a Funny Anecdote shed in his yard. Carl was full of stories, the life of the party.
I was done in late spring. I carried three full cartons of ideas to my new addition, placed them on the wood floor and left to get a beer or two.
Next day I wanted to begin a new story, so I entered the place. I was confronted by screaming, angry ideas. Where is the rug? Not enough ventilation. Too dark, no view, a bad smell. No Netflix. No candy machine. On and on.
I slammed the door and walked over to Carl's. We spent the morning in his Anecdote shed--him spinning tales and me sporadically chuckling.
I could still hear whining coming from my yard. Somebody needs to slap around the creative muse.

Toolbox

When ever I'm feeling insecure I go into my cabinet and take out my toolbox. I'll open it and stare at the shapes and sizes, not exactly certain what some of them do. But that is irrelevant. It is the fact I have this box and can leave the house anytime I want, carrying it with confidence and aplomb.
People are reassured when confronted by someone baring tools. They automatically assume this is a guy who applies complex solutions to complex problems. This is a man good with his hands, who can choose just the right whatchamacallit. We make eye contact--I sense respect. Sometimes pedestrians will walk right up to me and say things like, "Off to help someone, eh?" Or, "I've been struggling with a leaky faucet for weeks. Can you take a look at it?"
I'll shrug and tell them I'm cutting back, nearing retirement, unable to take on new customers. Then I'll rattle my toolbox and stride off. I don't have to glance behind me to see the expression melding disappointment and awe. I can feel it.
Someday I hope to actually fix something. Boy, then watch my confidence soar.