Remarkable, That...
December 3rd 2006 14:05
When George visits these days his conversations are more muttered and unintelligible. He knows this, so speaks less often than has been his historical style. Instead, he wanders about the property, seeking activity. He will, for instance, pick up the leaves of autumn individually, and then manually shred them before placing them in the green waste can.
Remarkable, that.
George was (is?) a meticulous artisan and craftsman. He has created precision wooden carvings, done with a lathe saw, that are truly beyond description. The patience and focus it must have required to make these picture frames, wall hangings, lamp bases, and more is simply beyond my pale.
Remarkable, that.
So now, while puttering around, he has discovered the dilapidated and rotting garden table that should have been dismantled and trashed years ago. "Oh, wood!" I imagine he must be thinking to himself. A flurry of 85 year old activity ensues. He needs a hammer, some nails, and extra slats of plywood that he recalls seeing laying around. I was able to supply him with the tools, but the plywood was one of those tricks that his memory seems to play on him. Those boards are laying around at his house in Northern California.
I wonder to myself if his attempt to repair the old table will lead to immediate crumbling of the old, soft-from-years-of-being-in-moisture wood. I decide not to pose this possibility to George. Partly out of laziness, because the conversation will take way more effort than it is worth. And partly because "what the hell, just let him do it".
I figure George is a walking, talking example of how the life force and the creative juices don't easily pass. Though seemingly unable to create his intricate woodwork anymore, he does default into working the wood and creating a functional table from a non-functional table.
Why? Because he is driven. And now, for the time being at least, I have a functional garden table!
Remarkable, that.
deorre
Remarkable, that.
George was (is?) a meticulous artisan and craftsman. He has created precision wooden carvings, done with a lathe saw, that are truly beyond description. The patience and focus it must have required to make these picture frames, wall hangings, lamp bases, and more is simply beyond my pale.
Remarkable, that.
So now, while puttering around, he has discovered the dilapidated and rotting garden table that should have been dismantled and trashed years ago. "Oh, wood!" I imagine he must be thinking to himself. A flurry of 85 year old activity ensues. He needs a hammer, some nails, and extra slats of plywood that he recalls seeing laying around. I was able to supply him with the tools, but the plywood was one of those tricks that his memory seems to play on him. Those boards are laying around at his house in Northern California.
I wonder to myself if his attempt to repair the old table will lead to immediate crumbling of the old, soft-from-years-of-being-in-moisture wood. I decide not to pose this possibility to George. Partly out of laziness, because the conversation will take way more effort than it is worth. And partly because "what the hell, just let him do it".
I figure George is a walking, talking example of how the life force and the creative juices don't easily pass. Though seemingly unable to create his intricate woodwork anymore, he does default into working the wood and creating a functional table from a non-functional table.
Why? Because he is driven. And now, for the time being at least, I have a functional garden table!
Remarkable, that.
deorre
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