Attachment

This afternoon I stopped by a friend’s house to get something out of his shed. It was underneath a tarp, which I yanked off and threw on the ground. Later, when I was getting ready to leave, I had already closed up the shed when I noticed the tarp still laying on the ground.

I picked it up and started dragging it around the shed to the side door. I was treating it like, you know, a tarp. It’s tough as hell and nothing ever happens to it no matter what I use it for.  I’ve had that tarp for years.

It’s been keeping stuff dry in that shed for half a year or so. Before that it was in my garage, folded up neatly with my other tarps. It still had some sand on it from the last time I used it – it was a buffer between the ground and our tent at a campsite in West Virginia.

Before that it provided shade at Sunshine Daydream (by chance, also in West Virginia) during the Jerry Garcia Birthday Bash.

I used to keep that tarp behind the seat of my old pickup truck with my emergency supplies when we lived in Colorado. It came in handy from time-to-time for doing things like moving furniture.

I used that tarp a few times in the infield at Daytona International Speedway during the Rolex 24, a 24-hour sports car race.

Once, in Orlando, I was helping a friend with a project at his house. I’m sure we we’re doing something ridiculous to his car. He needed something at Harbor Freight, and was particularly excited when I said I’d never been to one. I had only known them as a catalog retailer, and didn’t know they had stores.

Dave noticed a sale on tarps and grabbed a couple. He said one was for me, because it’s a good thing to have around. He said you never know when you’ll need a tarp. I agreed, thinking that to that point in my life I had never needed a tarp.

Thanks for the tarp, Dave.  Turns out I did need it.

That’s a lot of memories from a tarp. I guess I understand why people get so attached to things.

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