You move into a house and you’re surrounded by boxes and bags of… stuff. You haven’t sorted through everything and nothing is quite where it should be. You think you packed it in this box but it could very well be in the other. Is it in the foyer or have you brought it upstairs already?
The first couple of times you skip up or down the stairs, sure in your packing process and positive it’ll be where you think it is. The sixth and tenth and twentieth time the skipping turns to slow trudging accompanied by mild or more severe cursing.
When we moved into our house last year my Ikea garlic press (which you can find here if you’re in Canada or here if you’re in Norway) quickly became my go-to hammer substitute. It now sports an impressive number of battle scars after helping me hang up pictures and put together Ikea furniture. I feel it’s served me well.
Today was the first day that I reached for an actual hammer before reaching for my handy and reliable garlic press when a nail needed hammering. Will I forever abandon it in favour of the the proper tool? Doubtful.
(I realize this wasn’t an actual ode.. I suck at poetry)