While many tools are passed down from generation to generation, there comes a time for all when they must be laid to rest. For a truly great, well crafted instrument, you don't know whether you should provide a burial, compose a hymn, or offer it up in a gasoline fueled cremation. Tossing it in the trash somehow doesn't feel right.
Yes, it is looking like my father's trusty Craftsman drill is on its last legs. It started coughing and shuddering while Clifton was drilling holes for the floor, and its condition only got worse Saturday. I have many fond memories of this tool. It was the drill I learned carpentry with, wobbling and dropping many a screw in the process. Adam and I doubtless snuck it around to build trebuchets and forts. There were those toothed boring bits that I never really knew how to use, but yes, they got stuck into the Craftsman's keyed chuck. My father built his house with it, and generously loaned it for mine. I'm not giving up on it and pronouncing it gone forever, but for the time being, it looks like David's shiny new Dewalt is going to have to step up to the plate.