Today I bought myself a present: my very own pliers.
But I was surprised the hardware store only had ones with plastic coating on the handles.
I remembered my volunteer years (1996-2002) when I worked and lived at Heifer Ranch in Arkansas.
My work in livestock often demanded fixing or opening or closing something out in the field or in barns or pens, and the one and only tool that went everywhere with me was a simple pair of pliers.
Its bare metal handles could double as a lever or a hammer or a poker or whatever.
I was proud to wear the pliers in a holster on my belt, sort of like a status symbol for us two or three volunteers privileged to work with the animals.
Anyway, the pliers reminded me of something strange I recently discovered in the sculpture garden of the Israel Museum.
(Like always you can enlarge the photos.)
The gate was half-hidden in the flowering rosemary bushes.
Couldn't find pliers on the sculpture.
But the deformed handle of a pickaxe gave a kvetch to my sometimes-archaeology-worker's heart.
UPDATE: Don't miss the Spooky Men's Chorale singing "Don't Stand Between a Man and His Tool"!