The Man that Tinkers

Letter #76: Someone that warms my heart.

8/14/23

He wakes up early in the morning, it’s hard to know when. Maybe it’s 6am? Or is it 7:30? He doesn’t remember either.

He washes his things in the bathroom sink. He doesn’t need much for what he needs to do. He hangs them gently to dry in the sun.

He’s always happy to see you. He’ll never ignore you, he’s never too busy to give you a proper Buongiorno, ciao! And embrace in a handshake.

There is a grandfatherly warmth about him. The type of person that has lived a long and interesting life and has many things to tell you about.

Like identifying the different country codes for making an international phone call.

Or how best to spend a leisurely day in Biella.

He can repair anything, but especially leather goods. He’ll stitch your shoes back together, in a Frankenstien sort of way that will make you think of him every time you go for a walk.

He notices things others don’t—the loose board in the wooden bath mat. The rickety chair that rests unsteadily on the ground.

And then he tinkers. He pulls out his tool collection, an array of screwdrivers and hammers, drill bits and nails, leather straps, old horse shoes, a needle and thread. He can fix anything, but you wonder where he keeps all these tools?

He sets up a little workshop outside so that people can come and watch while he tinkers. He’ll teach you anything you want to know.

He’s never rushed but seems always to keep busy. He naps in the chair before dinner, his head resting against the palm of his hand.

He eats plenty, but does so slowly. He has a lot to say so he’s a charming dinner guest.

He prefers to drink white wine over red. And if he has some leftover after dinner, he’ll mix it with his espresso. Have you ever seen such a thing?

It’s hard to know how old he is. Is he 65? Or is he 79? But nothing slows him down.

When he arrives, he carries a lot of bags. A backpack on his back, a backpack on his front. He has more bags on his shoulders, but who could ever know what he stores in them?

He has a cooler with some tomatoes and zucchini in it. Are they from his garden? Does he have a garden?

He always wears the same navy or plaid shirts, the front pockets weighed down by an over-stuffed wallet and pads of paper scribbled with things he should remember.

He always folds his collar inwards, so that his shirt becomes collarless. He wears a crocheted bolero around his shoulders, sometimes under his workman’s vest, something extra to keep him warm. Did someone make it for him?

He wears long shorts with a lot of pockets. The shorts are tan but the pockets are black. He carries a lot of useful things in them. He wears an apron when he works.

He keeps his white-ish grey hair short, but sprouts black hair from both his nose and ears. More than most. But it doesn’t bother him, so it won’t bother you.

He doesn’t seem to suffer from ego. He’s simple in his dress, but still knows how to look nice for a party.

He has a lot of friends because he’s nice to everyone. Has he ever been married? He never seems lonely.

He leads a life of discipline, his bed is always made right away in the morning. He’s content in his life, he doesn’t speak of regrets.

He likes to be in the mountains, but sometimes the city.

He doesn’t fly, he only drives. He’s driven through Morocco, Tunisia, Algeria, and Libya. He’s seen the pyramids in Egypt, all from the seat of his car. Maybe he feels better when he’s close to the ground.

The leather chair had a rip in it, so he covered it with another piece of leather. It’s Frankenstein-ed. But every time you sit in it, you’ll think of him.

We are preoccupied with buying new things. But Sandro takes old things and fixes them.

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I wrote this one morning in the mountains in Italy. Sandro showed Emilie and I all his old photos from his life of many years ago. She spoke with him in French and translated to me in English. My inability to communicate with Sandro through speaking did not hinder our ability to develop a dear friendship.

I’ll be venturing back to Italy in May. I’m craving alone time, connection to self, fresh foods, and days spent under the sun. I’m craving a slower pace of life, learning the art of a life of leisure from the people of Italy. And then I’ll come back and start it all over again. ❤️

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