The Boy (Girl) Who Cried Wolf

Probably you have heard the cautionary tale.  A boy rushes into his village crying, "Wolf, wolf, the wolf is coming!"  Everyone runs for cover only to discover there is no wolf. He does this so often that when he actually sees a wolf approaching the village his cries go unheeded.

Sometimes I feel a little like the boy who cried wolf. I get excited by possibilities and decide then and there that I'm going to write a book on teaching techniques, or become an expert on picture framing, or learn marquetry, or become a life coach, or publish a children's book. The problem is I don't end up doing most of these things. That doesn't stop me from talking enthusiastically about what I intend to do and, when I'm talking about it, it's all consuming. Somehow the brilliant plan gets set aside. Something more interesting comes along.  I get bogged down in the  complexity of the task and stop because I don't know what to do next or it takes too much energy to persevere through the icky bits.

I have been trying to cut tight dovetails for twelve years now. I seem to either cut plumb or cut at right angles to the face of the board. I don't seem to be able to do both at the same time and both are required for a tight joint. I've been learning to play piano for seven years and the progress is similarly slow. I can play the notes correctly or I can play in tempo. Doing both at the same time is
fundamental to making music.

Although I'm similarly stuck in both pursuits I feel very differently about them. With the dovetails I can shrug, put them away and try again tomorrow or throw them across the shop and not return to them for months. I enjoy the process of sawing or planing for its own sake. Of course I want to end up with beautiful results but if I don't, I mostly have fun anyway. Since I can remember I have always wanted to work with wood.

Piano is different. I've never particularly wanted to play the piano but a great opportunity to learn came along and I took it. The contentment in the practice in the shop is not there with piano. I want the hands to get out of the way and just do what needs to be done to make music. I have little patience when they play wrong notes or stop when the music should continue. I know I could improve with time and practice but I lack the will to push through. It's time to let go.

Music will always be a part of my life and even as I let piano go another idea takes shape.  I want to return to making door harps but I want to make the bodies differently. Making them from large thick pieces of wood means there is a lot of waste. What if I could make the bodies of door harps more like guitar bodies?  I have started to learn about building guitars. Of course I'll break a lot of wood and the burn pile will grow in leaps and bounds but what if I could develop some of the skills of a luthier and what if I could, then, make a concert ukulele for myself? The dream takes hold and I wonder if I could become skilled enough to make ukuleles for others to enjoy. What if this is a way to combine my love of music with my love of woodworking?

So stay tuned. Down the road we both may be able to laugh at another of Marian's crazy schemes but maybe, just maybe I will one day produce an instrument I'm proud of and, maybe just maybe, I'll be able to build more than one. In the meantime I hear the siren song of possibility and door harps are waiting to be built.

A Story of Two Friends

I have two friends, well I have more than two, but this story involves two of them and me.

Both are woodworkers and both are my teachers. What they have taught me has kept me at this work I love even though it has been frustrating beyond measure at times.  I have learned by watching them that everyone, no matter how skilled, makes mistakes. I have watched how they look carefully at what has gone wrong and how they proceed to move the project on from there. I think of both each time I'm in the shop.

These two have known each other longer than I have known either of them.  I met both in 2004 when I took my first hand tool course. One was the instructor and one dropped by for a visit having taken the course before. When I took the course again the next year  Teacher 2 was Teacher 1's assistant in the class. Both were kind, patient, helpful and skilled. Teacher 1 lives on the other side of the country and Teacher 2 lives a 45 minute drive away from me.

They make a good team and, at times, puns and practical jokes fill the shop with laughter and groans. Teacher 2 has been known to let fly with colourful expletives under some conditions and Teacher 1 has a strict rule about the language that is acceptable in his shop. Out of respect for Teacher 1, I've never known Teacher 2 to let fly in his presence.

That is not the only way in which they differ.  Teacher 1 is a committed Christian and strict follower of the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Saints.  He has 10 children and his motto is "Family First."  I remember at one point he told me when he and his wife were starting out he was advised to never let his current circumstances dictate the size of their family. To follow that advice takes courage. At the time he was a university student.  He has always provided for his family while his wife home-schooled their children. He has a wonderful way of trusting that he will be able to feed his family and create the kind of life that is so important to them. And he has managed through many changes. I've seen him struggle with giving up one source of income when the situation became untenable even though he didn't really know how he was going to replace it.

About the time I got to know him, he began making woodworking DVD's and after a few successful years, his son-in-law showed him he was losing money because people were pirating his work. He changed course and began offering online subscription classes.  He moved from selling other brands of tools to creating a brand of his own. And he consulted on plane design for a large US retailer that has since provided him with many teaching opportunities throughout the US.  When a policy change at the Calgary facility from which he rented space for week-long summer classes made it no longer viable, he took some time off from teaching the longer courses and then found a place in Ontario where he could resume the in-depth teaching. He continues to provide hundreds of woodworkers world wide with information and encouragement.

Teacher 2 has also been woodworking for many years. His story is similar in that he too has made many changes to the way in which he puts food on his table. He has sold cars, worked in the home building industry, sold a health-food product and obtained his license to drive big rigs.  He is tremendously talented musically and plays flute and trumpet. He has competed in figure-skating and sky-diving events.  When I first met him he had recently suffered an accident on a jointer in which he lost part of a finger on his right hand. I know of few people who are as careful as he is. Before that accident he also played guitar. After the accident he continued to work with wood and began to teach courses out of his shop. He once told me about his lost finger, "It's a drag but what are you going to do after you get through crying in your beer?"

Despite his care and attention to safety Teacher 2 had a nearly fatal paragliding accident a year ago, one from which only 5% of folks with as serious a concussion recover their intellectual capacity.  He has beaten the odds and the puns are as bad as they ever were. The struggle both physical and emotional isn't over yet and some days it's hard just to get out of bed.

Not too long after we met Teacher 2 shared with me her transgender status. I've taken a number of courses from her and have come to know some of the people who share this the knowledge of her gender identity. Living as a man has been difficult for her and she has gradually moved to living as a woman in the outside world. The relief of no longer hiding must be huge. As part of this acknowledgement she posted a new Facebook profile photo of herself in a gown.  It's a lovely picture and she looks content.  I responded to the post with, "Looking good."

Shortly after my post I received a phone call from Teacher 1, with whom Teacher 2 had not directly shared this information, asking what on earth was going on with Teacher 2. I tried to explain as best I could.  There was humour in the call and Teacher 1 said that he almost broke his jaw when it hit the floor. He asked why he hadn't known about this earlier.   I can imagine a sense of surprise and confusion thinking you know someone very well and then finding out that there is a hugely important part of them you haven't known.  I responded that Teacher 2 was afraid that she wouldn't be accepted by Teacher 1 if he knew. I assured Teacher 1 that Teacher 2's decision to live as female was a long time in coming and was not taken lightly. Teacher 1 and I talked about the costs of such a decision.  He was concerned about what that would mean in a hobby where many of the participants are male and  have a strong belief in the separateness of the two genders within individuals. He acknowledged that if facing this new knowledge was difficult for him it must be much, much more difficult for Teacher 2.

I don't know how this story will progress.   They are both kind, compassionate and courageous. I'm grateful that they are both my friends and, although I never imagined I might be in a position to mediate between their two worlds, I hope I have been able to, at best, do some good and, at least, do no harm. Only time will tell.

From a curmudgeon on Valentine's Day

Yesterday was Valentine's Day and I found myself being just a little grumpy about the whole thing. There's nothing wrong with celebrating love; I'm all for it.  What bothers me is the frantic rush to display that love in ever more extravagant ways. If you love her buy her flowers, chocolate, take her on a cruise. All the hype seems to be targeted more to men than women.  I saw one sign that read, "Gentlemen, Valentine's Day is coming up.  You're welcome!" The implication seems to be that if you don't remember Valentine's Day and do something extravagant you  fail to really love your partner and that, in my mind, is nonsense. Flowers and chocolate are available 365 days a year and it's the day-to-day appreciation of another person that matters.

And, what about people who are single and are encouraged by all the publicity to feel that they have failed in some way because they do not have a partner?  I married later in life and was aware that I might live my life single. I thought then and I think now that life as a single person is much preferable to life in a toxic relationship.

Having said that, I've been married for nearly 30 years and I like it. Many times a day I'm grateful for my husband.  He's easy to live with. He loves to laugh. We don't have to be doing the same thing to feel connected.  He knows more than I do about computers and patiently answers my questions even though I have asked the same one before and, having failed to write down a procedure, have forgotten how to do it. I don't know about all male and female brains but I do know that ours work differently. Richard is much better than I am at seeing the principles behind how things work so I often come to him after struggling with something in the shop and say, "I need your boy brain."  He comes out, looks at whatever it is, considers it and, more often than not, is able to help me figure out how to make it work. Sometimes I find this frustrating because I would like to be more independent but the fact that he is available and always willing to help means more to me than any bouquet of flowers.

In the last six months Richard and I have taken up ukuleles. In my case I played as a teenager. In his case the uke is completely new.  We enjoy playing together and laughing at some of the ungodly sounds that issue from the poor little instruments. Sometimes we finish a song, look at each other and acknowledge that it didn't sound too bad after all. Richard is studying harmony and he has been writing down and arranging some of the songs we play by ear.  He enjoys the challenge and I enjoy having the music to go from. Yesterday he finished an arrangement of "The Lark in the Clear Air" and gave it to me to play. He didn't do it because it was Valentine's Day and if he had finished it a day or a week earlier or later it would have made no difference. He did it because he wanted to and knew I would enjoy it. That kind of love and appreciation can happen any day of the year.

If Valentine's Day is a day you both look forward to as a chance to celebrate your relationship by doing something special then, by all means, celebrate. If however, it is a day that makes you feel you must come up to external expectations of what love is and how it's expressed then, please, let yourself off the hook. Flowers die and chocolate gets eaten. Respect and appreciation for another person is what endures and, in my books, what matters.

How do you get to Carnegie Hall?

YouTube YouTube, YouTube - at least that's how we got there.  At Easter 2015 the choirs of Knox and Scarboro United Churches presented Dan Forrest's "Requiem for the Living," and someone posted a clip on YouTube.  We received an invitation to take part in a concert at Carnegie Hall celebrating the music of Dan Forrest. We accepted the invitation, rehearsed, organized and raised funds. No, it wasn't that we were so brilliant that they offered to pay us to sing but, in my mind that's okay.  I looked at it as a unique holiday and a chance to go to New York City and it's always enlightening to work with other conductors, in this case Jo-Michael Schiebe who chairs the Thronton School of Music's Department of Choral and Sacred Music at the University of Southern California. It's also interesting to be part of a 200+ voice chorus. There are lots of people in your section so you don't feel so exposed as in a small chorus.  On the other hand, if you happen to sing through a rest a lot more people will notice, especially if you do it with gusto. No, I didn't make that mistake.

We had a great hotel in Manhattan a block away from Carnegie Hall and within walking distance of Central Park, The Apple Store, Uniqlo (a Chinese clothing chain) and Century 21 (Winners on steroids.)  Richard even went shopping the first day we were there and we both picked up some good deals on clothing.

In addition to rehearsals, we saw two shows, Something Rotten and Kinky Boots. The size of the theatres surprised me.  I thought they would be much bigger and I was taken aback by the lack of space in the lobbies. People lined up down the block and went directly through the lobby to their seats, no time and no space to wander before the performance.  We loved Something Rotten.  The script was solid and witty with numerous allusions to Shakespeare's plays and to many of the classic musicals I grew up with. Some of it, such as Shakespeare's rival composing a musical called Omelette, was just silly. I laughed nonetheless. I enjoyed Kinky Boots as well but had more difficulty making out the song lyrics and it lacked the wit that I so enjoyed in Something Rotten.  The theatres were within walking distance of the hotel and, having been there once, I'd certainly consider going back just to see a bunch of shows.

The temperatures the first couple of days were warm and I was happy with a light fleece sweater covered by a wind-proof fleece vest.  The temperature then dropped and the wind came up. The day we walked in Central Park there was a wind warning for around 70 kmh.  Although it was only a couple of degrees below freezing the wind chill made it feel like -15C.  We enjoyed our walk anyway.  There weren't a  lot of people out and we could hear bluejays squawking from the trees. I never actually spotted one but I did see grackles and the ubiquitous sparrows and Canada geese.

At our first rehearsal Dr. Scheibe told us to take out our pencils and write everything down because he didn't want to have to make the same correction twice. Gulp. As someone who might get it right on the 25th try I was a little intimidated.  He also said things like, "I hear one soprano..." and, "one baritone is..." I determined not to be that one soprano and I confess to hedging my bets by coming in just a little late and cutting off just a little early when I wasn't absolutely sure.  No accidental solos for this camper!

There were a couple of funny moments involving tempo.  "Doc" as Scheibe invited us to call him, got going at quite a clip in one section and then asked an assistant how fast he was going.  The tempo marking was in the 60's and the assistant responded, "88."  "Really?" asked Doc, "Really?" "Yes," replied the assistant.  "Okay," responded Doc, "we'll slow it down."  We took another run at it and again Doc asked for the tempo. It was 80.  We tried a third time and managed to slow it down a bit. In performance when everyone was excited, I'm almost certain the original tempo crept back in.

There were pretty strict dress regulations and, after some consideration, Richard decided to rent a tux in New York.  It was expensive and he does own one, but we decided it would be way less hassle than trying to pack the tux and then having to iron out the wrinkles when we got there. As it was he went for a fitting the second day we were there; they delivered the tux to the hotel on the day of the dress rehearsal and they picked it up from the hotel so we didn't have to worry about getting it back. Money well spent for the lack of fuss. I was very glad I had purchased a variety of concert attire a couple of years ago because I was able to put together an outfit that enabled me to wear long johns and a t-shirt underneath.  Sorry I do not willingly freeze for my art.

Distinguished Concerts International New York had us very well organized by row and position in the row.  We sat that way in rehearsal and lined up that way for the performance. Although I avoided an accidental solo I was that one person who blithely got into the wrong dressing room and didn't realize it until they called the row numbers. Luckily I did realize in time, and scuttled up another flight of stairs to the fifth floor and sneaked into the correct line. There was an elevator but the organizers encouraged all those who could, to walk up the stairs.  I was grateful that I regularly walk up five flights to my chiropractor's office and that, although I don't consider myself in great shape, none of the walking we did caused any twinges or tiredness.

When we filled in the initial information forms we had to give our height so they could arrange us by voice part and height.  I don't know what happened to the system but there was a young woman right in front of me who was at least a head taller than anyone else in her row. I was able to dodge her in rehearsals and before our rehearsal in Carnegie I tapped her on the shoulder and asked if she was going to wear heels in the performance.  She said they weren't very high.  I guess height is a subjective thing because when we lined up to go onstage she was a good two inches taller than in rehearsal.  By moving to the very edge of the riser with the toes of my right foot hanging over I was able to see around her and, luckily, the person next to me was still able to see around me.

The performance came off fairly well.  There were moments when derailment threatened but we managed to stay on the tracks. For the second half of the performance we sat in the audience and listened to Dan Forrest's "Requiem for the Living."  I always enjoy hearing that music. Forrest was at our dress rehearsal and took a bow on stage at the end of the performance.

Following the concert there was a very pleasant reception with a buffet and booze included.  I know we paid for that in our fees but it was fun to share stories with our cronies and socialize a bit with members of the other choirs. We were the 'international' component, all the rest of the choirs being from the US.  We left New York the next evening just in time to beat the storm Jonas which, two days later halted all air, car and subway traffic in the city.

Perhaps it was watching too many crime shows when I was a kid but I was a bit apprehensive about going to The Big Apple.  I found the people to be friendly and I felt safe walking after dark. People seemed to be there for a good time and were polite and relaxed.  We ate way too much cheese cake and visited the diner which is referred to in South Pacific as 'Mindy's.' It's real name is Lindy's and the food was excellent.

As with our road trip to Newfoundland two summers ago, we crossed one thing off our bucket list only to add a dozen more.  I'd like to go back to New York to see the museums, the 911 memorial, Staten Island, some more shows and a performance at the Metropolitan Opera.  That, however, will have to wait until the Canadian dollar becomes a little healthier with respect to the American green back.

Lessons from a biting parrot

Odie on the microwave cart

Odie has now been with us for 7 years, 3 years longer than he was with his original family. As most of you know Odie is pair-bonded to Richard and Odie and I have had a rocky relationship right from the get-go. In the past year we have worked with a wonderful parrot / human trainer named Robin.  With her help I've been able to feel comfortable getting Odie to come out of his cage and onto his gym so I can clean his cage and give him clean water and new food. Things seemed to be going swimmingly and I had just finished an email to Robin delighting in the slow, but steady, progress Odie and I have made. I thought our next step together was to train Odie to go into his travelling crate so that, if needed, I could take him to the vet without Richard's help.  I could always throw a towel over Odie and bundle him into the crate and, if it were an emergency, that's what I'd do but I'd rather not.  It's an unpleasant experience for both of us.

Odie, it seems, had other ideas. Last Tuesday he climbed out of his cage and after following the target stick* ended up on the old microwave cart where we store his toys. In order to get there he needs to traverse a rope ladder and then a dowel ladder to the top of the cart.  He was a little wary about the presence of the crate but he did come closer little by little. I'm not sure what spooked him but he began flapping his wings, launching himself off the top of the cart and ending up on the floor. I have 'rescued' him from the floor a few times so I got down on my hands and knees and extended my hand so that he could come over and climb up on it. Yes, it made me nervous because we are running about 50/50 in the bite department when I do this.  He wasn't at all interested and began exploring under the dining room table and then wandered his way into the kitchen, mostly ignoring me.  I offered the target stick hoping he would come back into the dining room and I could persuade him to come closer to the cage or the gym so he could climb up. Not interested. When he headed for the living room I walked around him, giving him a wide berth and blocked his path. He puttered for a few more minutes with me offering the target every once in a while and him ignoring it.

He was still interested in the living room and decided to attack my shoe. I stood my ground.  After some more puttering around he made his way cautiously toward me and, instead of attacking the shoe, climbed up on it.  From there he proceeded to climb up my jeans. I wasn't really happy about this and tried several times to offer him the target stick as a perch.  He wasn't having any of it.  I began moving slowly and steadily towards his gym as he continued to climb.  Unfortunately for me, he got to my shoulder before I got to the gym. With his beak no longer involved in climbing he lunged at my ear and gave me a hard bite. I didn't throw him off although I was tempted to. I said crossly, "Odie, that hurt," and lowered my shoulder to the gym. He stepped off onto the gym without hesitation. From there I was able to target him into his cage and close the door before dealing with my bleeding ear and wounded ego.

The past few days Odie and I have been wary of each other.  He has been hesitant to target when out of the cage and last night he came out of the cage but didn't want to move to the gym.  I was able to get the food and water bowls out in order to clean them and I managed to remove the bottom tray, change the newspaper, and replace the it while we eyed each other.  There was no way I was going to stick my hand in that cage with him sitting on top of it guarding his territory.  I sat down at the table and waited.  He went into the cage and checked out the wooden pot that usually contains an almond, a treat for him when he goes back into the cage. I targeted him out onto the bridge that goes from his cage to the gym and he came out, touched the target stick, got his lick of peanut butter and then turned his back and returned to the cage. "All right, Odie," I told him, " I'm not putting any food or water in the cage until you move away from it."  I went and sat down again. I tried a few more times to target him onto the gym and finally he came reluctantly to the bridge and then to the top of the gym.  I moved the bridge away and replaced the food and water bowls. Then I targeted him back into the cage and closed the door.  The whole rigamarole took about 45 minutes.

Odie on his gym playing with a straw 

I know many of you are questioning my sanity, shaking your heads and thinking, "Why don't they just give the bird to someone else?" There are a number of reasons: he's just being a bird and, although it might not seem like it, I'm actually smarter than he is. We've come a long way and I still have hope that we will be able to achieve a state where we can exist comfortably together and neither of us is afraid of the other. When we got Odie we made a commitment for life, his or ours. I don't believe in disposable pets.  I understand that in some circumstances impossibe to keep a pet and it's necessary to find them a new home. Just because Odie is difficult isn't a good enough reason to pass the problem along to someone else.  I'm sure that's how we got him in the first place. Despite it all he is a member of our family as much as a cat or dog would be.

But defending our choice to keep him isn't really what this is about. Living with the ups and downs of Odie has made me consider the situations of others in a different light.  Odie is a bird. He has a cage and I can throw a towel over him, put him into that cage and close the door.  We are both safe.  What about the women, and men who live with an abusive partner? My ride on the emotional roller coaster of having an unpredictable parrot is nothing compared to what they face each morning when they open their eyes. When is he or she going to lash out?  If I'm careful, quiet, invisible can I avoid the screaming, slaps and punches? He/ she is so sorry afterwards.  Maybe this time it will be different. We have such good times when he/ she isn't drinking. I still love him/ her. In days before Odie I used to look at those relationships, shake my head and ask, "Why don't they just leave?  I wouldn't put up with that!"

What about the parents of a child, afflicted with a mental disorder, who try everything they know without success? What about the guilt as they say to themselves, "Why can't I be a better parent? Why can't I find a way to help my child? What have I done wrong? It's just  a stage; they'll grow out of it." If you want an exceptionally good, though not pleasant, read that details what it is like to be the parent of such a child I highly recommend When the Ship Has No Stabilizers: our daughter's tempestuous voyage through borderline personality disorder by Fran Porter. Calgary Herald Interview with Fran Porter  The book is available on Amazon and the proceeds go to McMan Calgary that provides services to at-risk youth.

While I've been working on this post I've taken a few breaks. When I heard Odie cheeping I uncovered his cage and opened the blinds in the room. We have whistled our morning greeting back and forth through the house. I have paused to go to his cage when he has called me with the whistle I taught him to stop him screaming for attention.  He has pressed his head to the bars so I can scratch it and now we are saying, "'morning," and "hello" to each other as I finish this up. Things are returning to an even keel after the fright-and-bite episode. I have often joked that Odie and I must have something to teach each other in this life.  For now I think that lesson is one of compassion.

Odie enjoys climbing on Richard

*Target training in our world
The idea is to offer the bird a target, in our case a piece of 1/2 inch dowel, to touch with his beak.  When he touches it I say a cue word to let him know the reward is coming and then give him a lick of peanut butter off the end of a chopstick. The chopstick keeps my fingers well away from his beak. If he lunges no treat, the target goes away and we try again in a few seconds. He knows the game very well and will sometimes choose to play and sometimes not.

A Quiet Christmas

Here it is Boxing Day.  The turkey leftovers are stowed in the fridge; the stock is made for soup; there is a lot of leftover stuffing and gravy, and there are way too many sweet things in the house. When I was young the Christmases were huge, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins in the large house that had a staircase at each end so we kids could run up one stair across the upper floor and down the other stair shrieking and laughing.  I'm sure we drove the adults crazy.

In my late teens and early twenties we were adopted by my aunt's family and it wasn't unusual to have twenty or twenty five people for Christmas dinner. My uncle just kept extending the table with sheets of plywood. Some years we had skits and often we sang carols around the piano. For a couple of years we celebrated Christmas with Richard's sister and, again, there was a full house.

This year there were three of us. We made ragged music, stayed in our pj's as long as we wanted, watched old movies and laughed often and long. The size of the group has changed but the music and laughter remain as does the sense that this day is out of time, a day to set aside the regular routines, a day to pause, as the ancients did, and look forward to the return of the light which remains a few minutes longer each day. In the Christian tradition it is a time to celebrate hope, peace, joy and love qualities that our battered world sorely needs. As I prepare to pick up the regular routines once again it is with the sense that I have taken time to celebrate, reflect and rest so that each day I can take small steps to meet the returning light.

Looking Ahead

It's Christmas once again and the time between Christmases seems to be getting shorter and shorter.  I always take some time to think back to other Christmases and to look ahead.  June of 2016 will mark the completion of my eighth year of retirement and I can feel my focus sharpening.  I've tried all kinds of things in the last seven and a half years and the thing I look forward to more  than anything is woodworking.  I've gone headfirst into activities before and then gradually abandoned them.  For a while it was canoeing, then cycling; then running. I don't know how long woodworking will hold my attention but, at the moment, I want to learn everything I can and become as skilled as I can.

Nothing gives me more pleasure than being able to make an object for someone to appreciate and use. One of my repeat customers told me that, having received one of my ornaments last Christmas, her mother-in-law wants to collect enough of them to decorate her whole tree.  I grin inwardly when I imagine a Christmas tree in Nova Scotia  made beautiful by my ornaments.  Some of my boxes have ended up in Africa and several people have told me that they still use the pens I made for them several years ago. All of this gives me a tremendous sense of satisfaction.

In our society money signifies importance. In truth, I would work wood without getting any money for it but there's a certain amount of validation that comes when people, not only express verbal appreciation, but willingly exchange money for something I have created. Recently I opened a bank account so I can take credit cards. I have two goals for the account: I want to generate enough income to pay the wonderful person we have hired to clean our house every two weeks. Neither one of us is particularly disciplined about cleaning and it's a delight to have the whole house clean all at once and on a regular basis.  My second goal is to make my hobby self-supporting. I have a credit card I use only for woodworking supplies and educational materials and I'd like to be able to pay it off each month using the woodworking account.  I feel a little like I did when I got my first job, excited and a bit apprehensive.  I'm very glad that I don't have to depend on my woodworking skills to put food on the table.  In teaching I exchanged my time and skill for wages.  In this venture I exchange the works of my hands for money and I want those works to be ambassadors for what is beautiful and cherished in this world.

I believe each of us has a responsibility to make our own small corner of the world a little bit better.  I hope the things I craft will make someone's life a tiny bit easier or more pleasant. I'll keep you posted as my life after teaching continues to unfold. I wish each of you a Merry Christmas and health, contentment, and good fortune in 2016.