“And it was after long searching that I found out the carpenter’s chest, which was, indeed, a very useful prize to me, and much more valuable than a shipload of gold would have been at that time. I got it down to my raft, whole as it was, without losing time to look into it, for I knew in general what it contained.”
— Daniel Defoe, from “The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York, Mariner: Who lived Eight and Twenty Years, all alone in an un‐inhabited Island on the Coast of America, near the Mouth of the Great River of Oroonoque; Having been cast on Shore by Shipwreck, wherein all the Men perished but himself. With An Account how he was at last as strangely deliver’d by Pyrates.”
Sixteen years ago I sat at our crappy kitchen table in Lexington, Ky., and braced myself for a life of mediocrity.
The newspaper I had helped found was foundering. I was working such late hours that it was easier just to sleep under my desk. My wife, Lucy, was pregnant with our first child and was working (more than) full time as a newspaper reporter for the Lexington Herald-Leader.
She was standing by our freezer with a pint of chocolate ice cream. I was wondering what the hell I was going to do with my life.
“The problem,” I recall saying, “is that I’m kinda good at lots of things. But I’m not really good at anything.”
It was true. Lucy and I had both been reporters for newspapers and magazines, and she was the star player. I was the waterboy. She was feted by her bosses. I was plagued by errors and corrections and a judgment misstep that still haunts me. Ask me about that over a beer some day.
By some stroke of luck or divine intervention, I landed a job at Popular Woodworking, and all the pieces fell into place. I got to work with my hands. I was allowed to write, edit, design and take photos – all things I was “kinda” good at. This job salvaged my career. Without it, I have little doubt that I’d be writing obituaries for a shopper with a fifth of Ancient Age in my desk.
So my emotions were mixed as I loaded up my bench, tool chest and shaving horse yesterday and took them to my house. This job was the only job I’ve truly ever loved. I’m paid well (for a writer). I’m treated well and given plenty of freedom.
Why? Well, in journalism school, one of the first things they teach you is that when you write, you should “show – not tell.”
So I guess I’m going to have to show you why.
After my friend Phil and I loaded my stuff into his truck, I got into my car and started the drive home. At the first traffic light I plugged in my iPod. The song waiting for me was from Superchunk, one of my favorite DIY bands.
When I learned to talk, I found words that weren’t worth dirt Heavy like the rocks we carry, I stopped sinking and learned to surf
I stopped swimming and learned to surf Stopped swimming, learned to surf I learned to surf.
cavetto: \kə-ˈve-(ˌ)tō, kä-\
A hollowed moulding, whose profile is one-quarter of a circle. It is principally used in cornices. A cavetto that flows from and terminates a straight line is called a conge, or sometimes an apophyge.
egg and dart: An ornamental device often carved in wood, stone or plaster quarter-round ovolo mouldings, consisting of an egg-shaped object alternating with an element shaped like an arrow, anchor or dart. Some historians contend this ornamental device is supposed to represent the duality of life (the egg) and death (the arrow).
Dang. I had no idea that “facial angle” would evoke such an impassioned response. I’m still sorting out the online and off-line comments and will post a follow-up. In the meantime, let’s do an easy one (famous last words).
fillet (fil’it) A small flat area that separates individual mouldings. A narrow flat band used for the separation of one moulding from another; a fascia.
