Most folks can appreciate when wonderful tools are passed down from previous generations. I hadn't really counted on an inheritance myself. I never met my paternal grandfather, nor did I care to. My father passed while my mother was pregnant with me. Shamefully, when my mother went to collect my father's tools from the foundry where he worked, his co-workers had already looted his toolbox. Nice. So, I took silly pride proclaiming that everything in my shop I had worked for, and paid for myself. You'd think I would would have learned by now, every time I puff out my chest I'm setting myself up to be humbled.
My wife and I moved to the midwest about a decade ago. I soon learned I had a great aunt and uncle whom I'd never met. This would be my paternal grandfather's youngest brother. To our delight, Wayne and Ethel are wonderful, salt of the earth folks. And wouldn't you know it, Wayne is a woodworker too. He mostly makes wooden toys that he donates to churches, fundraisers and the like. Not just any wood toys either. Wayne made complete functioning train sets, airplanes, and so on.
Unfortunately, I got to know Wayne just as his woodworking days were winding down. He was in his 80's, his eyesight was getting worse, and he no longer trusted himself with power tools. Poor fella had to start living his woodworking dreams vicariously through me. He didn't seem to mind. He's very proud of my shop and the the furniture that has come out of it. And I have to say, I have a renewed pride in my heritage after spending time with him.
Fast forward to this year. Wayne and Ethel are selling their homestead and moving into an assisted living apartment. I was honored when their daughter offered some woodworking tools that had been in the family for generations. I know some of my woodworking friends enjoy this sort of thing too, so I thought I'd share.
Preface: Along with the woodworking madness, I’ve decided to author a few personal blogs. Personal, meaning I’m likely to ramble about my faith, my family, and just about anything else that relates to “worker” as opposed to the “wood.”
I suppose, in a way I’m relating to the throngs of online bloggers out there. It’s a form of expression. Perhaps a way to organize thoughts that seem stuck in my head until I can write the down. I don’t even care if anyone reads this stuff. I just know I need to write it.
The Past….
In college I met this beautiful girl named Heather. Lucky for me, she was just as taken with me as I with her. We were dating within days of meeting, and we have been inseparable ever since.
Late in our college years she got sick, real sick. The doctors in our little college town were pathetic. A year went by without a diagnosis, so she was in pretty bad shape by the time her parents had to take her back home for some proper care. Diagnosis: Crohn’s disease.
Basically it’s an autoimmune disorder where your immune system inappropriately attacks your own digestive system. The attacks cause ulcers throughout your digestive track and wreaks all kinds of havoc on your body. There is treatment, but no cure (yet!).
