Sometimes the bindery has nothing to do with books

Like lately. When not editing like mad for the Sexo Puro project and Skyping with the sunny Brazilian songwriter Suely Mesquita, I've squeezed in a few afternoon practicas for tangueras looking to lead.

Some required decluttering of the garage also led to the pivotal point in the marriage when you finally commingle tools.

Thanks to bookbinding I have plenty of mallets for whacking things. It also appears we have plenty of hammers. I have a soft spot for the one I found a few years ago with Mabel Bailey's initials on it. She left it behind long before I moved into her tiny bungalow, from where I oversaw the construction of the bindery. I still feel awe for the woman, who raised four kids in an 800-square-foot house. She probably could have used some tango too.