Wood Therapy

I've been building stuff out of wood pretty much since I was old enough to hold a hammer. Never got good enough at it to be considered a master woodworker.

A real benefit to me is that building something with my own hands happens to be therapeutic. Fashioning a bench, shelf, or writing desk of wood. The smell of wood. The gratification of seeing something take shape. This is a desk I did for my daughter. I liked it so much, I built two more after that.

All of these have got me hooked on the hobby. Will I ever be considered a master woodworker? Nope.

But if my wife allows me to bring a finished piece in the house, I consider it high praise. So far I have built several small benches, writing desks for my son and daughter, and a shelf to hold videos and DVDs in the living room. I also built a computer desk for my "play" computer, a HP PII box running Linux out in the garage. My latest project is a computer hutch, which may get finished this month.

However, if it doesn't that's okay too. I'm not on a deadline, just my own time frame.

That's Civil Behind the Wheel

I can be fairly easy-going, but there are moments that test my demeanor.

Interstate highways are a prime example. They can get us there the fastest, but the same design that frees us from stoplights and numerous intersections can bring us to a total standstill, if a wreck in front of us or road construction totally blocks off lanes of traffic. The last time I found myself in a nearly impossible situation was on a return trip from my brother's house. I was desperately trying to make time so I wouldn't hit Charlotte at rush hour. My efforts failed, and I soon found myself facing miles of taillights for some unknown reason. Right away, I found an offramp and a chance to stop at a light, read the map, and plan another route. But it was already after 4 p.m. and the city of Charlotte was heading home right in front of me. It doesn't pay to be impatient.

I heard a story on the radio recently about a young woman in Seattle who jumped 160 feet off a bridge. Before she took the leap, the suicidal woman had created a traffic jam as people stopped out of curiosity. What made matters worse were the number of motorists rolling down their windows to yell, "jump!" She survived, but faces what probably will be a long hospital stay.

That incident got me thinking about the type of people we've become. Something about getting behind the wheel brings out the worst in people. Aggressive driving has become an increasing problem. Add to that more devices that distract drivers such as cell phones and portable computers, making them a menace. There are more cars on the road, and more people in a hurry than ever before.

But, who would wish for a young lady to jump to what likely would be her death, just to get traffic moving again?

Is it that important for me to get where I'm going in time? Will I bear down on the gas to overcome my inability to allow enough time to get somewhere? Will I get bent out of shape the next time someone in front of me goes 40 in a 55 mph zone? I have honked at people and been honked at. I've had people behind me flash their lights as I push even the legal limits in the fast lane.

Folks, what's the rush?

Maybe it would be better for us all to become a little less busy and clear our calendars so we can have a life, instead of rushing ourselves and our loved ones, living by the clock.

I think I'll take a walk now. If you're driving, please watch out for me.

The Gatherin' Bench

Yesterday I took a break and strolled around a historic site near home. As I was leaving I encountered someone I knew, who introduced me to his nephew. I learned that his profession led him to Los Angeles. All appears promising for this guy.
I gathered in my conversation that they had been traveling around the area, up into the North Carolina mountains, and now were at this spot, just a couple of days before he had to fly back to L.A.
He commented that this place is so relaxing, and somehow he was invigorated by the atmosphere of this simple place -- a few log cabins and a water mill along a quiet stream. His uncle maintained that this guy was where he should be. After all, there's a real world out there, he said. It made me aware once again that there are various schools of thought on life.
I calmly replied to him that I would rather be relatively poor and living in a place such as this, rather than fighting my way through traffic to some cubicle where I would work until it was time to head back down the freeway to an exorbitantly expensive home or condo half an hour or more away.