(Originally posted at SixPackTech.blogspot.com on 10/14/07.)

Of all the worldly possessions I may have owned over the years, my most treasured possession is my garage. It has become my Fortress of Solitude, my home away from home and the center of my existence. I’m out in my garage almost every day of the year, weather permitting. Living in the state of Illinois, with its freakish weather and often brutal winters, I’m usually allowed about 10 1/2 months of bliss out in the garage. When the temperature is forecast to dip below freezing for the foreseeable future, and the wood-burner can’t keep up, I pack up my electronic perishables and I retire to the house and abide by its rules to wait out the climate.

My wife and I built the garage in 1978, back when I had a steady job and a nice income. It was a family project, a do-it-yourself event. She handled the finances and I handled the work. The design was mine, a 24 by 30-foot 2 1/2 car garage. The half-car part was to be a little shop.

Over the years the garage has evolved into my present-day workspace/quiet room/media center/computer room/storage area. “Dad’s pad when Mom’s mad”, if you will. As my kids grew up they became a part of it as well. Coupled with the driveway, this structural entity has become an indispensable tool making up a large part of what our family has become during our stay on our property and this Earth. There has never been a garage like this one and there will never be another one just like it for the rest of mankind’s existence. It has personality.

There are many things that make my garage special, the first being that I’m firmly convinced this garage has played a major part in keeping my marriage together through three decades. The main thing is that the garage is not attached to the house. You just can’t get out of your car, open a door and walk into the kitchen. There’s a fifteen-foot, open, unprotected, sidewalk-connected distance between the house and the garage. There have been many times when I didn’t want to be bothered but the weather wasn’t conducive for Mom come out and “chat”. Or nag. Disconnected, yet still connected. Still together.

The garage has quite a history as well. Over the years it’s seen times of computer parties, 4th-of-July parties, man-to-man talk sessions, algebra lessons, infants’ playground, male bonding, love-making, guidance counseling, tears and laughter, tons of farting and just plain being a guy. Without my garage, I am half a man. If and when we sell our house I’ll insist, no, I’ll DEMAND that our next domicile have a detached structure where I can be myself and entertain my thoughts accordingly.

Some interesting facts about my garage:

There were 21 guys from work who helped pour the slab and, in my nervousness, I filled one guys boot with concrete.

I got “hooked up” with the concrete. A work buddy’s Dad was a supervisor at the concrete company. He loaded up a ten-yard mixer with 12 yards of concrete. The driver had to stop half-way up the river bridge to make sure he wasn’t shitting concrete out the top. I paid the bill for nine yards.

Had one wheelbarrow-full of concrete when the job was done. Used it to patch part of the house foundation.

After the slab was poured, we all drank beer, except for the guy who did the finishing work. He was wired on coffee.

My wife and neighbors spearheaded a cookout to be ready for us after the slab job.

I had to cut down a giant willow tree to clear the way for the slab. While cutting down down the tree, I saw my wife in the back window of the house and motioned for her to come out and join us. She just flipped me off. What a woman.

It took 4 weeks to burn the stump of the willow below ground level. The heat melted the aluminum sheets I had placed over it and had to keep asking my neighbor for more.

The guy who masterminded building the structure was diabetic. One Saturday morning he forgot to take his insulin and called his wife to bring it. And a chainsaw. I watched as he lifted up his t-shirt, pinched the flab of his gut, looked at me and stuck out his tongue as he injected himself. He used the chainsaw to cut off the roof rafter tails.

One of the rafters has about 9 nails in it where it attaches to the wall.

Over the years, the garage is on its third roof.

I’ve actually parked 3 cars in the garage and been able to shut the big overhead door.

There’s a pee bucket in one corner so I don’t have to go in the house.

I have a hand-me-down TV which is positioned just under the rafters held cantilevered by chains. Its platform is part of a pallet from the delivery of an AS400 computer at work.

There’s a 60-bin parts drawer bench which I inherited from my Dad after he died. The bins used to be part of an old post office.

There’s a wood-burning stove which is an original “Sotz”; two 55-gallon drums, one the stove, the other, a heat exchanger. Wood for fuel is what I can glean from recent storms and construction or remodeling. Haven’t paid for wood yet.

The stove part is a double-walled rad-waste barrel obtained from the nuke plant where I used to work.

The heat-exchanger part is an oil drum I fished out of a dump at work. It still contained about about 4 gallons of 5W40 oil which I’ve used for light lubrication over the years. After kicking the drum down the dump hill, I tumbled after it in the 6″ snow after tripping.

I’ve strung cable TV, phone, and CAT-5 Ethernet out to the garage. The phone line is unused. Quiet.

I have a 4-speaker (not surround-sound) stereo. All audio is wired to it. It does the job.

Beer fridge, VCR, DVD player, microwave, and a large fridge for the wife of my life for cold food storage when the house fridge needs it. And a small freezer.

A 1967 Volkswagen Beetle Baja Bug with a Corvair engine has been stored in the garage for over 20 years. All it needs is a new battery, I swear.

For the last coupla years, there’s the Mac mini positioned right above the stereo receiver. It’s what I’ve been using for many months. SixPackTech.com got started out here in the garage on this machine.

I dubbed my garage “The Manly Garage” shortly after it was built. Since then, I’ve re-christened it as “The Manly Cyber Garage.”

These words that I’ve written do not fully convey how much a part of me my garage is. If I lose my garage, a very large part of me dies. It’s what makes me ME. It’s my personal climb-into safe deposit box. It will be in my heart until the day I die.

Posted by FCGrabo