Christmas Present Building Past....

The last of the Christmas orders have been picked up. The tools have been cleaned and put away and the sawdust swept. It's quiet in this Santa's workshop today. Every year about this time I promise myself I will never make Christmas presents on order again. Around the approach of spring, which usually occurs around March 1st and lasts until the 2nd, I start looking forward to having a busy shop again. I have other orders to fill but nothing required before Christmas. I will start on the new projects after a short break until the first of the year.

Today I had planned on focusing my attention on the tons of fallen leaves in my yard. The neighbors would appreciate it and I would enjoy being outside. As luck would have it, today is the coldest and wettest day of winter for us so far this year. I guess just sitting here next to the fireplace is as good a place as any to waste time. The only thing better would be if Debbie would go out to the wood pile and start us a fire. That would be just wonderful but I'm not expecting it to happen. Since it's been so warm we've had only one fire this year so Deb stacked Christmas presents on the hearth. I guess I'll hold off on that fire until Christmas day when everything has been distributed to the little...and not so little grandkids.

I was sitting here reflecting on my 'Christmas present building past' with warm memories. I kept saying during those stressful days just before the deadline that I would look back on those days someday with fondness. I didn't believe myself at the time but now I do enjoy thinking back. Mainly because the days are past and I don't have to relive them ever again. My mailman asked earlier this week how I learned to make things out of wood. That started the memories. I'll give a quick summary:

It all began on a hot day in August, 1950. The place was All Saints Hospital in Fort Worth, Texas.....

oh, sorry....Debbie told me not to go that far back.

It all started in 1979 when my doctor told me if I didn't learn to live with the stress of my job I wouldn't live to see 30. I was 29 at the time. Since I wasn't interested in starting a new career, he suggested I find a hobby to be accessible to me every day of the week. I could do anything as long as I did it daily. That ruled out most hobbies. No one....well, no one back then could play golf every day and fishing was out of the question. I could learn to cross-stitch and help Debbie with projects or I could learn to do something manly. Hunting was my first instinct but the city didn't think that was a good idea. I explained there was plenty of wildlife that needed thinning out around us but they said "no". Then I remembered my grandpa and how he let me help with his woodworking projects. Even though most of my help involved sweeping sawdust I enjoyed the time spent and thought, "Hey, that's what I'll do! I'll sweep!" Then I decided actually doing the woodwork would be more enjoyable. I came home from the doctor's office and told Debbie exactly what I had been told: "Go immediately to the hardware store and invest way too much money on quality woodworking equipment or you will be dead by your 30th birthday." It may have not been those exact words but that's the message I received from the doc.

After my first investment I had the basic tools to create tremendous volumes of sawdust. The tools looked wonderful in my garage and I hoped to actually turn one of them on eventually. Since grandpa wasn't around to supervise my ignorance I was a little bit scared of the tools. It took about two days to get enough nerve to turn them on and another week before I actually cut some wood. My first projects were Christmas presents for my unsuspecting family members. They were so kind. A few years later after I actually learned how to use my tools I offered to replace every gift I had given with something less fireplace worthy. My sister Julie took me up on the offer and after I made her another gift we agreed the stupid, lopsided "fern stand" would be tossed in the fire. It was a grand experience.

Learning to work with wood is a dangerous undertaking if you are teaching yourself. Too many times the self-taught have to make notes to themselves about things like not to get too close to the blade while it's rotating...and they usually have to make that note with the less dominant, and less bleeding hand. I was lucky to have spent time with my grandpa because even though my only functioning tool was a broom he drove the safety issues home to me regularly. So far, I've never bled from a cut. I have bled over a few splinters but that just adds to the mystique of a quality woodworker.

A few years into my woodworking saw the building of a shop for my hobby. All my tools laid out in permanent positions with built-in workbenches, overhead lighting, and a lock on the door. I had made my place in the prestigious world of "really good woodworker". Of course there is no award for that status, and I just made it up while writing this.....oh, and the status itself was in my own mind but darn it, I was proud of myself. People actually wanted me to make things for them rather than politely accepting the offered nightmares. I had arrived. My job wasn't slowly killing me anymore and my hobby was completely satisfying.

As I sit here in retirement and laugh at all the stress and worry I put into things that no longer matter, I'm glad I put some time into learning how to work with wood. I enjoy it and yes Debbie, I also enjoy complaining about it. It's all part of the hobby!