Fireside
The chairs are still empty.
The fire has already started.
Before company
There is a particular part of hosting that happens before it looks like hosting.
Ice tipped into a bucket.
A bottle put somewhere cooler.
Wood shifted closer to the fire.
The packet of meat opened at one corner.
A thumb pressed against the edge of a knife.
The first coal collapses with a soft red crack.
There is smoke in the shirt now.
Soon someone will arrive and ask whether anything needs doing.
Probably not.
The apron is already on.
The tools are already out.
The work began before the company did.
Fireside is made for that part.
Made properly
The Apron
At first it is almost too clean.
The leather lies flat. The surface is even. The brass still catches more light than it should.
That doesn't last.
One evening leaves a darker patch near the waist.
Full story
Another leaves the faint smell of smoke in the leather the following morning.
A thumb repeatedly reaches for the same place near the pocket.
Fat spits.
Ash lands and is brushed away with the back of a hand.
The apron begins folding differently when it is taken off.
Months later, it hangs near the door while another fire is being built.
The leather has softened across the stomach.
One corner is darker.
The brass has lost its shine.
Nobody remembers which evening put which mark there.
Good.
It has stopped looking new.
It has started looking right.
The fire isn't lit yet.
Made properly
The Braai Roll
The first time it is packed, someone thinks about the order.
Knife.
Tongs.
Fork.
Full story
Brush.
Skewers.
The strap is pulled through and the leather rolls around them with a low, dry creak.
Then it goes into the back of the car.
For a while, it is forgotten.
There are roads.
A gate.
Someone carrying wood.
Someone else asking where to put the drinks.
Later, beside a fire that is only beginning to settle into coals, the roll is put on the table.
The strap comes loose.
Leather falls open.
The knife is there.
The tongs beside it.
The brush exactly where the hand expects the brush to be.
No drawer.
No searching through somebody else's kitchen.
No question shouted across the garden.
Just the small sound of steel leaving leather.
Then the work can begin.
Made properly
Small Carry
Most useful things disappear.
A cable holder goes into the side pocket of a bag.
A key fob onto a set of keys.
An opener onto a hook.
Full story
Then nobody thinks about them.
That is how it should be.
Until six months later.
An airport lounge.
Coffee cooling beside a laptop.
The charging cable comes out of the bag without bringing three other cables with it.
The leather around it is softer now.
There is a small scuff across one corner.
For half a second, the hand remembers where it came from.
Then the cable is plugged in.
The flight is called.
The leather goes back into the bag.
Useful things have work to do.