It has been a long time since I felt a deep fondness for a machine, and, thanks to our journal, I can pinpoint the last one exactly. It was four years ago when I fell in love with the little red toyota that Tyler and I drove across Europe and Asia. It carried us safely through nine countries, all the way from Germany to Mongolia, where we ultimately surrendered it to the government.
All of our current motorized belongings lack personality and magic. Our little silver civic is just a car. Our hulking truck is just a truck. Our generators are nothing more than generators. Our many motorized tools are just tools. But, the raggedy, rusted mortar mixer loaned to us by our friend Pete is kind of stealing my heart. He doesn't have a name, and he's certainly no Habib, but he's definitely a he.
He's getting old, this mortar mixer. For god's sake, you have to wrap a tie-down-strap around his crank and pull to get him going. When he wakes up, he chugs and churns loudly to life, lurching and belching like a newly-awakened lumberjack. He's brawny and strong, though, a real workhorse. And by god, we are working him hard.
We are so thankful for this mortar mixer! Thank you for lending him to us, Pete!