We are well into week nine of the quarantine in Texas.  I have washed, and waxed my car…twice.  I have rearranged my toolbox so that the most common sought tools are in the right hand drawers making them more accessible.  I serviced Penny’s bicycle, re-tightening the brake cables, lubing the chain, and giving the petal a good spin.  I have dust mopped under my bed, and behind the dresser.  I have washed all the windows, inside and out, with soap and water and squeegee’d them dry.  And, of course re-organized the silverware drawer.

You would think with that kind of industry going on around my house that my wife would not sneak up behind me as I was standing in the garage over a large bucket of soapy water and say in that sing-song voice of hers “Whatcha’ doin?”.  I was dreading her, or anyone for that matter, catching me standing over this bucket of soapy water which was why I had the garage door open just enough for the top window panes to be laid flat, obscuring anyone looking in from the street.  Because, you see, I was washing my tackle box.

That’s right, I had carefully removed all the various hooks, leaders, lures, weights, swivels, and ten years of the newest technology from the Fishing Show, most of it still in its original wrapping.  I had sorted them by type, weight, and whether I thought I’d ever use them.  All laid out in an impressive array on top of my newly organized toolbox.  Some of it I threw away.  Some was still perfectly serviceable but aged.  I found a couple of packs of hooks that still had the “Oshmanns Sporting Goods” logo on the plastic box.  Oshmanns has been out of business for about 20 years.  So, I took the hooks out of the dated packaging and put them on the top of the toolbox with more recent hook acquisitions and I defy anyone to tell the difference.

Once the tackle box was empty, my first thought was to spray it down with some kind of  industrial cleaner and wipe it down.   Instead, I got a large bucket, or tub  really, filled it with hot water, put about $18.00 worth of cleaner, and a little clorox, and set that baby in there.

It lay there for a bit, kind of like the Titanic as it took on water and slowly sank.  And just like the Titanic, it eventually sank bow first and came to rest on the bottom of the tub.  I took an old toothbrush to all the nooks and crannies, then went back over it with a cloth rag, and finally dried it by setting in on its side facing my squirrel cage fan set on “Hi”.  By this time, I desperately wanted to believe that this was all worthwhile so I convinced myself this was an investment in my future fishing fun.

Then I compounded my earnings by carefully putting everything back, each in its own, dedicated divided tray.  I remember thinking briefly about using one of those labeling machines to label each tray, until I realized that I didn’t have a labeling machine.

I’m done now.  The tackle box is back on its shelf in the garage waiting for the morning that the spirit moves me to go fishing.  Or, maybe its waiting for the next cutting edge fishing technology from the Fishing Show.  We’ll see.