First, the caveat:
I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about woodworking, trying to make sense of what it is that has always drawn me to it. I’m notorious for over-thinking, overanalyzing and basically spending too much energy navel-gazing. This blog is intended to get some of it out of my head. I’ll be glib, sarcastic and flippant in my other posts. Who knows how this one will turn out. It may be a train wreck, so reader beware! If navel-gazing doesn’t hold any appeal or distraction for you, move on. If you’re allergic to estrogen, move away quickly.
My own personal rules are to not to spend more than 30 minutes on any one post. I can correct a mistake if I catch it right away, but can’t go back. If I post it, I can’t edit or delete. I tend to edit things to death and have been known to delete my posts before it’s too late.
If anything resonates with you, feel free to chime in.
We’re all going to die.
It’s just as certain as we were born, pay taxes and suffer the effects of gravity.
When we hear of someone passing, the first question is “how old was he/she?” and then we proceed to compare that number to our age and do the math.
We all know it, but it makes us squirm to talk about it, and most of us don’t even want to think about it.
When is it a tragedy?
One of the LJs lost a son-in-law last month, a young man who had just become a father.
I think we’d all agree that leaving a newborn and a young wife behind is a tragedy.
My mother-in-law is 88. To her, anyone dying under the age of 90 is a tragedy. She’s scared to death that she may get “C-A”. (she can’t even say the word cancer) I guess that’s another example of how everything in life is relative.
My father is only in his sixties, but he constantly makes comments about this or that ‘outlasting’ him. Why would he buy an expensive pair of shoes, when he’ll be dead soon anyway? (his logic, not mine). I’m thinking ‘why not buy whatever the heck you want provided you’re not going to leave debt behind for someone else to carry.
A friend of mine with a serious health issue has told me that he’s ‘accepted’ death, whenever it may come.
Wow! I dont’ know if I’ll ever be there. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think the world is going to stop turning when I’m not here to grace it with my presence, but I suspect I would arrive at the Pearly Gates with a chip on my shoulder if I don’t get to raise my children.
Of course I’m just realizing that anyone who cares to read this may start a discussion on the ‘after-life’, so I’ll make my views clear: I don’t necessarily think that God is a caucasian male with a long white beard, because that’s too similar to Santa. I do believe however, that there is a God, and I do believe that there is something for us after physical death. Even for the non-Catholics. (GASP!) I think it’s like reading a book. Each of the characters has a voice in our heads, and it’s the same way with God. He may not sound or look the same way to you, but that’s because of the filter through which we see everything.
There are those who believe the glass is half empty, those who believe the glass is half full, and those who believe that the water was poisoned in a government conspiracy involving China. Regardless, we each have a finite amount of water.
Where am I going with this? I have no idea. Of course it may have something to do with the internist who is sending me for an echocardiogram to rule out a atrial myxoma. What is that you say? It’s a benign tumour that grows in your heart. It’s not cancer, but it can block various structures causing stroke and sudden death. It also happens to secrete some weird compounds into the body causing a wide variety of symptoms.
Nobody is saying I have this, it’s just next in the list of things being ruled out in my quest to drain the Canadian medical system dry of funds. It certainly got my attention however.
So when I went and looked at the Record CL3 48” lathe that is being sold in my neighbourhood, I could have justified the purchase. It’s not going to take food off the table, it’s a good deal, solid piece of machinery, you only live once etc etc etc. But the danged thing is huge. I have no space for it. Nowhere to even hide it for a few weeks. And it’s likely more lathe than I will ever need. Not because I plan on dying anytime soon, but there are just so many other things I would like to try before I feel the need to turn table legs. And since I don’t want my husband pouring all the water out of my glass, I passed on the purchase.
Am I depressed? No. Contemplating life’s vicissitudes? You betcha. I’ve always liked that word, ‘vicissitudes’. I read it in a book once.
I think I’ll wander out into my shop and wait for something on the lumber rack to call my name. Anyone who says that wood is dead isn’t a woodworker.
-- No, I don't want to buy the pink hammer.