Please, please spirit, let me rest!
I awoke this morning at 3:30 a.m. Covered with sweat and concerned with my high pulse rate. I was shocked when my wife told me that my muffled screaming had awakened her. Then, as the trigger releases the hammer, my memory became clear and I was full of dread. I had been pursued by a spectre. Garbed in an apron, pencil in a tiny pocket and with spectacles pulled low, now sitting on the tops of flaring nostrils, well below the normal nasal bridge position, the spectre shreiked at me (though the shreik was in the softest of voices). With clenched fist raised, this spectre demanded to know “what in the name of hell’s fury are you doing?”. “Is this your first day on the job? Maybe we should put a broom back in your hand, you were always adequate with that tool!”. “YOU CAN’T BUILD DRAWERS THAT WAY! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? OH, AYE, THAT’S IT, YOU’RE NOT THINKING!” Wait a minute, do I know this spectre? Well now that he’s scared the bejasus out of me, he seems strangely familiar. Gramps, is that you?
“NO!” It’s the bloody ghost of Christmas Past!” Boyo, you’ve been at this for more than fifty years now, what are you thinkin’?” If you build those drawers the way you discussed in yesterdays post, you’re going to make them trapezoidal, and trapezoidal in the wrong direction! You’ll not be able to get a good fit on the drawer bottom, and it matters not how hard you’ll try.” Back to the bench or back to the broom. That was my choice. I chose the bench.
So disregard yesterday’s post. (Everything except the bit about the man behind the curtain. You’ll find that notion has many applications as you saunter down the road of life.) The drawer front pins are proud and taper, if required, will be planed in – as it should be! A little glue, a little filing and sanding and add the cockbead; the world will once again resume it’s natural orbit.
We are all students, no matter the level of our mastery. The ‘prentice boy is always there. Only a fool wills the boy away.
Alright, alright, I’ll sweep up! Didn’t you tell me that you don’t make any money cleaning the shop? Yes, yes, I know “it’s a poor workman what blames his tools”. You know, I’m glad that you’re never very far away. Thanks for catchin’ this “screw’up”. I wish we could have a beer. But I’ll see you soon enough.