A Tale of Two Tapes

Two tiny tools helping me make some sense of it all

Hello again,

Yes, I’m back, posting something two days in a row — a new record! After yesterday’s post, I couldn’t stop thinking about two of the smallest, most unassuming things I carry: a tape measure and a half-used roll of duct tape.

They’re both old.

They’re both a little worn.

They’re both practical.

And they both belonged to my grandmother.

The combination of usefulness, sentimentality, and compact size is rare enough to make those items worth holding onto.

Measuring

The tape measure is the kind you’d find in a sewing kit — soft plastic, curled into a coil, some numbers slowly fading with time. I can’t remember exactly how old I was when she gave it to me — maybe 10 or 11 — but I remember the emotion clearly. I had asked for help measuring something (no clue what), and she let me keep it. And just like that, I had a real tape measure of my own.

It made me feel all grown up.

Kids don’t need tape measures. Measuring tapes are for people doing grown-folk things — tailoring, fixing, planning. This was a coming-of-age necessity.

I’ve carried that same tape measure ever since. For a long time, I mostly used it to measure my own body — a tool for tracking weight, size, and progress. Internal goals tied to external pressures.

But these days, I’m measuring boxes, furniture, and road trip gear. My focus has shifted outward — toward what I’m building, not just how I look doing it.

I use it constantly now — measuring furniture to list online, entering box sizes for shipping, double-checking dimensions when someone messages me on Facebook Marketplace. It’s suddenly indispensable. It still makes me feel grown up, but in a different way — more capable than compromised.

(By the way, the tape measure shown in last night’s backpack photo is my “purse measuring tape.” The one I’m talking about here — the one from my grandmother — is different. I keep it wrapped up with a pink magnetic twist tie and always have it attached to a magnetic surface in my house, ready for use.)

And this tiny pink tape still works. Still helps me size up the world around me — and maybe myself, too.

There’s something poetic about the way my measuring tape coils — not unlike a nautilus shell, building chamber by chamber. I didn’t plan it that way, but maybe there’s another reason I’ve kept it this long.

Mending

The duct tape has its own story.

She gave it to me before a trip, handing me a partially used roll from a drawer. “You should always carry some in your luggage,” she said. “You never know what it might fix.”

She was right. I’ve always kept a full roll in my car or house.

But this roll — her roll — has lived in every carry-on I’ve packed since.

It’s been with me to nine different countries and counting.

Even though it’s covered in bottom-of-the-bag fuzz and gummed up from time, I can’t bring myself to use it — or lose it.

There’s just enough tape left for an emergency. And it’s just small enough to earn a spot in my bag. Technically still useful. Emotionally irreplaceable.

And yes, if Pedro Pascal ever needed it in the apocalypse? I’ve got him covered. I’ll sacrifice my gunked-up tape for him. Grandma would understand.

Some things aren’t about fixing what’s broken.

They’re about the comfort of knowing you could, if it came to that.

Tether and tool. Memory and use. Two little tapes. One to help me measure my world, one to help hold it together.

What We Carry

Even with my ruthless downsizing, these two tapes — they’ve earned their place.

One helps me assess.

The other helps me hold things together.

Both remind me I’m capable.

They’re small. They’re beat up.

They aren’t beautiful.

But they’re mine. And they work.

And maybe that’s the metaphor I needed this week — for the version of me that’s emerging, tape by tape, tool by tool. A little worn, a little fuzzy at the edges, still measuring, still mending — and still ready.

🎵 Song of the Moment

“Stuck in the Middle With You” – Stealers Wheel

Because tape is sticky.

Because I’ve been talking about being in the middle of the mess.

Because like the lyric says: “Trying to make some sense of it all…” That’s the goal. These little tools help more than they should.

Because since Michael Madsen passed away a few days ago, I’ve watched his infamous scene from Reservoir Dogs a few too many times and now the song is “stuck” my head.

And most of all? Because it slaps.

So give it a listen and dance around for a few minutes… and hopefully I’ve got this link right this time!

So Tell Me…

• What’s one tool you carry (physical or emotional) that always seems to show up at just the right time?

• Have you ever kept something you don’t use — but still need?