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Today my thoughts went back to when I was about 6 or 7 years old. Even though we lived in a post-war 50's subdivision we, for a while at least, still had the weekly visit from the horse drawn carts of the sharpener and the rag man. I can still hear his raspy voice ringing out between the clop clop of the horses hooves, "Rags....Rags."
I guess business is good because, for the first time in my 50 years of woodworking I had to buy rags. It seems I am using them up faster than I can wear out my clothes. Unfortunately there is none of the romanticism of the old rag man in going to Menards and buying a plastic bag stuffed with T-shirt parts. Progress.
I guess business is good because, for the first time in my 50 years of woodworking I had to buy rags. It seems I am using them up faster than I can wear out my clothes. Unfortunately there is none of the romanticism of the old rag man in going to Menards and buying a plastic bag stuffed with T-shirt parts. Progress.