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Stumbling onto something far bigger than myself

Deuce's log, January 13, 2010

We've all heard stories of past lives coming out to the surface…I cannot forget how crazy i thought the person who first suggested it to me was. Memories of being someone else? Where's the lithium? The past few months I've been biting my tongue, because memories are now something I cannot remove from my head.
I'm not crazy, but lately i have been remembering quite vivid memories about being someone else; About a past life. Toiling away in a large log home, I held a chisel in one hand and an oak mallet in the other. Guided by the light of a distant candle, I sat there for hours chipping away at a seemingly perfect back rest on a chair. I can see the scored groove on the flat river stone sitting on the table to my left, and I remember thinking it was going to irritate me if I had to sharpen the plank of cold steel again.
Sadly enough, I don't remember anything else. Maybe it was a dream I had that I was remembering when I was conscious again, but it felt strangely different from a dream. I felt the cold of the steel, I smelled the burning animal fat candle, I coughed and watched the wood chips fly from my breath….This was more than real to me. It was the beginning of an answer.
When I'm in the shop, I don't think about anything other than what I'm doing. My workshop is my escape from life, my vacation, if you will. The stress of everyday life lifts from my shoulders to burden someone elses world because I'm no longer in its world…I'm in my own.
Born the son of a mechanic, I was raised with limitless amounts of scrap metal laying around. While I could tinker with the machines and create life from them, I had to turn astray. I was living someones dream, I was being trained for someone elses job, not mine. While metal has its advantages, wood is what calls to me. My dreams, my art, my life…they can all be expressed thorough my pieces.
Also, in being a mechanics son, I had a limit to what I could do. Adventuring into woodworking with a limited amount of tools was like being castrated before i even began. I was always trying to make complicated cuts by hand and smoothing out the screw-ups with sandpaper. When you're 15, even the simplest thing as buying tools limits you greatly.
That year, my brother gave me a set of Stanley wood chisels, 1 inch, 3/4 inch, and a 1/2 inch. From then on, I don't recall a day I haven't had to pull a sliver out of my sock. I was an artist that received new paint brushes, and I was going to make the most of it.
My life is furniture. I dream in furniture, I draw furniture, I live and breath for the smell of fresh cut pine in the morning. I have a 2 inch binder notebook filled with design ideas with detailed parts lists, design schematics, blueprints, and its almost full, yet life has handed me some pretty raw deals over the years and I still dont have an adequate workshop. The table saw I have doesnt cut square, nor does the blade adjust for depth, nor is there a power switch. I have a compound miter saw with an 11 3/4 inch cut width…other than that, I have a jack plane, a block plane, the same fore-mentioned chisels, and a set of cheap Wal-mart carving tools. Needless to say, even the smallest project poses a huge time constraint because everything has to be meticulously calculated to work around those certain setbacks, and it takes even longer to finish, due to the flaws in the cuts and sanding everything by hand.
My work is far from perfect. With the right tools, I know I could be doing much more much faster, and much better, but I am still strapped for cash. No worries, though. I'm a glutton for punishment, and I still welcome the challenge with a smirk.
 

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Stumbling onto something far bigger than myself

Deuce's log, January 13, 2010

We've all heard stories of past lives coming out to the surface…I cannot forget how crazy i thought the person who first suggested it to me was. Memories of being someone else? Where's the lithium? The past few months I've been biting my tongue, because memories are now something I cannot remove from my head.
I'm not crazy, but lately i have been remembering quite vivid memories about being someone else; About a past life. Toiling away in a large log home, I held a chisel in one hand and an oak mallet in the other. Guided by the light of a distant candle, I sat there for hours chipping away at a seemingly perfect back rest on a chair. I can see the scored groove on the flat river stone sitting on the table to my left, and I remember thinking it was going to irritate me if I had to sharpen the plank of cold steel again.
Sadly enough, I don't remember anything else. Maybe it was a dream I had that I was remembering when I was conscious again, but it felt strangely different from a dream. I felt the cold of the steel, I smelled the burning animal fat candle, I coughed and watched the wood chips fly from my breath….This was more than real to me. It was the beginning of an answer.
When I'm in the shop, I don't think about anything other than what I'm doing. My workshop is my escape from life, my vacation, if you will. The stress of everyday life lifts from my shoulders to burden someone elses world because I'm no longer in its world…I'm in my own.
Born the son of a mechanic, I was raised with limitless amounts of scrap metal laying around. While I could tinker with the machines and create life from them, I had to turn astray. I was living someones dream, I was being trained for someone elses job, not mine. While metal has its advantages, wood is what calls to me. My dreams, my art, my life…they can all be expressed thorough my pieces.
Also, in being a mechanics son, I had a limit to what I could do. Adventuring into woodworking with a limited amount of tools was like being castrated before i even began. I was always trying to make complicated cuts by hand and smoothing out the screw-ups with sandpaper. When you're 15, even the simplest thing as buying tools limits you greatly.
That year, my brother gave me a set of Stanley wood chisels, 1 inch, 3/4 inch, and a 1/2 inch. From then on, I don't recall a day I haven't had to pull a sliver out of my sock. I was an artist that received new paint brushes, and I was going to make the most of it.
My life is furniture. I dream in furniture, I draw furniture, I live and breath for the smell of fresh cut pine in the morning. I have a 2 inch binder notebook filled with design ideas with detailed parts lists, design schematics, blueprints, and its almost full, yet life has handed me some pretty raw deals over the years and I still dont have an adequate workshop. The table saw I have doesnt cut square, nor does the blade adjust for depth, nor is there a power switch. I have a compound miter saw with an 11 3/4 inch cut width…other than that, I have a jack plane, a block plane, the same fore-mentioned chisels, and a set of cheap Wal-mart carving tools. Needless to say, even the smallest project poses a huge time constraint because everything has to be meticulously calculated to work around those certain setbacks, and it takes even longer to finish, due to the flaws in the cuts and sanding everything by hand.
My work is far from perfect. With the right tools, I know I could be doing much more much faster, and much better, but I am still strapped for cash. No worries, though. I'm a glutton for punishment, and I still welcome the challenge with a smirk.
lithium will not help you my friend what the prognosis is.is you have wood fever this can be fatal so i recomend you dont seek medical help but spend more time in the shop i suffer from the same problem and i have found that the only cure is a sharp table saw blade a few feet of rough lumber and a lot of saw dust.so take two boards and call me in the morning.R.Hudon wood dr of woodology
 

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Stumbling onto something far bigger than myself

Deuce's log, January 13, 2010

We've all heard stories of past lives coming out to the surface…I cannot forget how crazy i thought the person who first suggested it to me was. Memories of being someone else? Where's the lithium? The past few months I've been biting my tongue, because memories are now something I cannot remove from my head.
I'm not crazy, but lately i have been remembering quite vivid memories about being someone else; About a past life. Toiling away in a large log home, I held a chisel in one hand and an oak mallet in the other. Guided by the light of a distant candle, I sat there for hours chipping away at a seemingly perfect back rest on a chair. I can see the scored groove on the flat river stone sitting on the table to my left, and I remember thinking it was going to irritate me if I had to sharpen the plank of cold steel again.
Sadly enough, I don't remember anything else. Maybe it was a dream I had that I was remembering when I was conscious again, but it felt strangely different from a dream. I felt the cold of the steel, I smelled the burning animal fat candle, I coughed and watched the wood chips fly from my breath….This was more than real to me. It was the beginning of an answer.
When I'm in the shop, I don't think about anything other than what I'm doing. My workshop is my escape from life, my vacation, if you will. The stress of everyday life lifts from my shoulders to burden someone elses world because I'm no longer in its world…I'm in my own.
Born the son of a mechanic, I was raised with limitless amounts of scrap metal laying around. While I could tinker with the machines and create life from them, I had to turn astray. I was living someones dream, I was being trained for someone elses job, not mine. While metal has its advantages, wood is what calls to me. My dreams, my art, my life…they can all be expressed thorough my pieces.
Also, in being a mechanics son, I had a limit to what I could do. Adventuring into woodworking with a limited amount of tools was like being castrated before i even began. I was always trying to make complicated cuts by hand and smoothing out the screw-ups with sandpaper. When you're 15, even the simplest thing as buying tools limits you greatly.
That year, my brother gave me a set of Stanley wood chisels, 1 inch, 3/4 inch, and a 1/2 inch. From then on, I don't recall a day I haven't had to pull a sliver out of my sock. I was an artist that received new paint brushes, and I was going to make the most of it.
My life is furniture. I dream in furniture, I draw furniture, I live and breath for the smell of fresh cut pine in the morning. I have a 2 inch binder notebook filled with design ideas with detailed parts lists, design schematics, blueprints, and its almost full, yet life has handed me some pretty raw deals over the years and I still dont have an adequate workshop. The table saw I have doesnt cut square, nor does the blade adjust for depth, nor is there a power switch. I have a compound miter saw with an 11 3/4 inch cut width…other than that, I have a jack plane, a block plane, the same fore-mentioned chisels, and a set of cheap Wal-mart carving tools. Needless to say, even the smallest project poses a huge time constraint because everything has to be meticulously calculated to work around those certain setbacks, and it takes even longer to finish, due to the flaws in the cuts and sanding everything by hand.
My work is far from perfect. With the right tools, I know I could be doing much more much faster, and much better, but I am still strapped for cash. No worries, though. I'm a glutton for punishment, and I still welcome the challenge with a smirk.
I enjoyed your blog.
You know the story of how Michelangelo (or one of those greats) said that when he carved a sculpture all he did was chip away the stuff that didn't belong - that the sculpture was just buried beneath? Sounds like you are a master craftsman buried beneath what life has given you. So it won't matter if you have old tools, cheap tools, no tools, - you will create from wood because that is who you are in your core. That's pretty cool.
I love your attitude - the limitations are just challenges not roadblocks. Keep on making sawdust!
 

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In Loving Memory
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Stumbling onto something far bigger than myself

Deuce's log, January 13, 2010

We've all heard stories of past lives coming out to the surface…I cannot forget how crazy i thought the person who first suggested it to me was. Memories of being someone else? Where's the lithium? The past few months I've been biting my tongue, because memories are now something I cannot remove from my head.
I'm not crazy, but lately i have been remembering quite vivid memories about being someone else; About a past life. Toiling away in a large log home, I held a chisel in one hand and an oak mallet in the other. Guided by the light of a distant candle, I sat there for hours chipping away at a seemingly perfect back rest on a chair. I can see the scored groove on the flat river stone sitting on the table to my left, and I remember thinking it was going to irritate me if I had to sharpen the plank of cold steel again.
Sadly enough, I don't remember anything else. Maybe it was a dream I had that I was remembering when I was conscious again, but it felt strangely different from a dream. I felt the cold of the steel, I smelled the burning animal fat candle, I coughed and watched the wood chips fly from my breath….This was more than real to me. It was the beginning of an answer.
When I'm in the shop, I don't think about anything other than what I'm doing. My workshop is my escape from life, my vacation, if you will. The stress of everyday life lifts from my shoulders to burden someone elses world because I'm no longer in its world…I'm in my own.
Born the son of a mechanic, I was raised with limitless amounts of scrap metal laying around. While I could tinker with the machines and create life from them, I had to turn astray. I was living someones dream, I was being trained for someone elses job, not mine. While metal has its advantages, wood is what calls to me. My dreams, my art, my life…they can all be expressed thorough my pieces.
Also, in being a mechanics son, I had a limit to what I could do. Adventuring into woodworking with a limited amount of tools was like being castrated before i even began. I was always trying to make complicated cuts by hand and smoothing out the screw-ups with sandpaper. When you're 15, even the simplest thing as buying tools limits you greatly.
That year, my brother gave me a set of Stanley wood chisels, 1 inch, 3/4 inch, and a 1/2 inch. From then on, I don't recall a day I haven't had to pull a sliver out of my sock. I was an artist that received new paint brushes, and I was going to make the most of it.
My life is furniture. I dream in furniture, I draw furniture, I live and breath for the smell of fresh cut pine in the morning. I have a 2 inch binder notebook filled with design ideas with detailed parts lists, design schematics, blueprints, and its almost full, yet life has handed me some pretty raw deals over the years and I still dont have an adequate workshop. The table saw I have doesnt cut square, nor does the blade adjust for depth, nor is there a power switch. I have a compound miter saw with an 11 3/4 inch cut width…other than that, I have a jack plane, a block plane, the same fore-mentioned chisels, and a set of cheap Wal-mart carving tools. Needless to say, even the smallest project poses a huge time constraint because everything has to be meticulously calculated to work around those certain setbacks, and it takes even longer to finish, due to the flaws in the cuts and sanding everything by hand.
My work is far from perfect. With the right tools, I know I could be doing much more much faster, and much better, but I am still strapped for cash. No worries, though. I'm a glutton for punishment, and I still welcome the challenge with a smirk.
I enjoyed your blog and the story, but I sensed a little negativity when you said life handed you some raw deals. I don't believe life gives anybody anything. We just have to use life wisely to get what we want out of it. We all have our ups and downs. I too have some pretty poor chisels. They work as good as the expensive ones when they're sharp, but I just have to sharpen them more often. If your saw doesn't cut square you should be able to somehow adjust or compensate with the fence. I assume your saw is at full height all the time, so you can lay different thicknesses of hardboard or MDF onto the saw top to have the effect of lowering you blade. We woodworkers do love tools and I'm no different, but we all compromise and make do with what we have and dream about something better. I didn't buy my first mitersaw until about 3 years ago and I'm almost 70 years old. To be honest, even if I had almost no tools I would still be working wood because I really love it. I hope you will too.
 

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Discussion Starter · #5 ·
Stumbling onto something far bigger than myself

Deuce's log, January 13, 2010

We've all heard stories of past lives coming out to the surface…I cannot forget how crazy i thought the person who first suggested it to me was. Memories of being someone else? Where's the lithium? The past few months I've been biting my tongue, because memories are now something I cannot remove from my head.
I'm not crazy, but lately i have been remembering quite vivid memories about being someone else; About a past life. Toiling away in a large log home, I held a chisel in one hand and an oak mallet in the other. Guided by the light of a distant candle, I sat there for hours chipping away at a seemingly perfect back rest on a chair. I can see the scored groove on the flat river stone sitting on the table to my left, and I remember thinking it was going to irritate me if I had to sharpen the plank of cold steel again.
Sadly enough, I don't remember anything else. Maybe it was a dream I had that I was remembering when I was conscious again, but it felt strangely different from a dream. I felt the cold of the steel, I smelled the burning animal fat candle, I coughed and watched the wood chips fly from my breath….This was more than real to me. It was the beginning of an answer.
When I'm in the shop, I don't think about anything other than what I'm doing. My workshop is my escape from life, my vacation, if you will. The stress of everyday life lifts from my shoulders to burden someone elses world because I'm no longer in its world…I'm in my own.
Born the son of a mechanic, I was raised with limitless amounts of scrap metal laying around. While I could tinker with the machines and create life from them, I had to turn astray. I was living someones dream, I was being trained for someone elses job, not mine. While metal has its advantages, wood is what calls to me. My dreams, my art, my life…they can all be expressed thorough my pieces.
Also, in being a mechanics son, I had a limit to what I could do. Adventuring into woodworking with a limited amount of tools was like being castrated before i even began. I was always trying to make complicated cuts by hand and smoothing out the screw-ups with sandpaper. When you're 15, even the simplest thing as buying tools limits you greatly.
That year, my brother gave me a set of Stanley wood chisels, 1 inch, 3/4 inch, and a 1/2 inch. From then on, I don't recall a day I haven't had to pull a sliver out of my sock. I was an artist that received new paint brushes, and I was going to make the most of it.
My life is furniture. I dream in furniture, I draw furniture, I live and breath for the smell of fresh cut pine in the morning. I have a 2 inch binder notebook filled with design ideas with detailed parts lists, design schematics, blueprints, and its almost full, yet life has handed me some pretty raw deals over the years and I still dont have an adequate workshop. The table saw I have doesnt cut square, nor does the blade adjust for depth, nor is there a power switch. I have a compound miter saw with an 11 3/4 inch cut width…other than that, I have a jack plane, a block plane, the same fore-mentioned chisels, and a set of cheap Wal-mart carving tools. Needless to say, even the smallest project poses a huge time constraint because everything has to be meticulously calculated to work around those certain setbacks, and it takes even longer to finish, due to the flaws in the cuts and sanding everything by hand.
My work is far from perfect. With the right tools, I know I could be doing much more much faster, and much better, but I am still strapped for cash. No worries, though. I'm a glutton for punishment, and I still welcome the challenge with a smirk.
Thank you, very much. Your positive reinforcement put the first smirk on my face this month, and I couldn't appreciate it any more than I already do. While my workshop may be limited on resources, mainly tools, I know in my heart and in my head that at one point there was no table saws…no miter saws…no routers, no biscuit jointers…and even though I wish for those items, I know that they are not a necessity. Humans have been chipping away at wood for several thousand years the same way I do it now and it makes me feel more human than if I was to use the tools. It's a primitive link to my ancestors.
My negativity on the situation isn't due to the situation, I just tried too hard recently to keep everything in my life from falling apart, and the more I struggled to hold the ropes, I still lost everything. I enjoy my style of woodworking. It's unique, just like me. And I do stack MDF on the table top to adjust for my depths when need be, but the fence doesnt assist me in the square cuts, so I have matched the angle (very big pain in the butt) and built a wedge that sits under the piece being cut to balance out to as close to 90 degrees as I'll ever get with that saw. I'm sorry if I sound egotistical, but I dont agree with you stefang. Life gives you choices. While one choice you make might get you what you want, it may also have an adverse effect on another. When I say life has handed me a pretty raw deal, I didnt mean that there wasnt an option or choice I had to make. I have had the opportunities for the tools I want, but then I would have made a choice to hinder my life or the life of someone around me, and I don't feel that I made the wrong decision. I love woodworking, and I'll never stop because it's the only way I find happiness anymore. The only limit I have is what I am willing to do, and the only reason I cant do something is because I tell myself I cant…but I know better than that.
 

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Stumbling onto something far bigger than myself

Deuce's log, January 13, 2010

We've all heard stories of past lives coming out to the surface…I cannot forget how crazy i thought the person who first suggested it to me was. Memories of being someone else? Where's the lithium? The past few months I've been biting my tongue, because memories are now something I cannot remove from my head.
I'm not crazy, but lately i have been remembering quite vivid memories about being someone else; About a past life. Toiling away in a large log home, I held a chisel in one hand and an oak mallet in the other. Guided by the light of a distant candle, I sat there for hours chipping away at a seemingly perfect back rest on a chair. I can see the scored groove on the flat river stone sitting on the table to my left, and I remember thinking it was going to irritate me if I had to sharpen the plank of cold steel again.
Sadly enough, I don't remember anything else. Maybe it was a dream I had that I was remembering when I was conscious again, but it felt strangely different from a dream. I felt the cold of the steel, I smelled the burning animal fat candle, I coughed and watched the wood chips fly from my breath….This was more than real to me. It was the beginning of an answer.
When I'm in the shop, I don't think about anything other than what I'm doing. My workshop is my escape from life, my vacation, if you will. The stress of everyday life lifts from my shoulders to burden someone elses world because I'm no longer in its world…I'm in my own.
Born the son of a mechanic, I was raised with limitless amounts of scrap metal laying around. While I could tinker with the machines and create life from them, I had to turn astray. I was living someones dream, I was being trained for someone elses job, not mine. While metal has its advantages, wood is what calls to me. My dreams, my art, my life…they can all be expressed thorough my pieces.
Also, in being a mechanics son, I had a limit to what I could do. Adventuring into woodworking with a limited amount of tools was like being castrated before i even began. I was always trying to make complicated cuts by hand and smoothing out the screw-ups with sandpaper. When you're 15, even the simplest thing as buying tools limits you greatly.
That year, my brother gave me a set of Stanley wood chisels, 1 inch, 3/4 inch, and a 1/2 inch. From then on, I don't recall a day I haven't had to pull a sliver out of my sock. I was an artist that received new paint brushes, and I was going to make the most of it.
My life is furniture. I dream in furniture, I draw furniture, I live and breath for the smell of fresh cut pine in the morning. I have a 2 inch binder notebook filled with design ideas with detailed parts lists, design schematics, blueprints, and its almost full, yet life has handed me some pretty raw deals over the years and I still dont have an adequate workshop. The table saw I have doesnt cut square, nor does the blade adjust for depth, nor is there a power switch. I have a compound miter saw with an 11 3/4 inch cut width…other than that, I have a jack plane, a block plane, the same fore-mentioned chisels, and a set of cheap Wal-mart carving tools. Needless to say, even the smallest project poses a huge time constraint because everything has to be meticulously calculated to work around those certain setbacks, and it takes even longer to finish, due to the flaws in the cuts and sanding everything by hand.
My work is far from perfect. With the right tools, I know I could be doing much more much faster, and much better, but I am still strapped for cash. No worries, though. I'm a glutton for punishment, and I still welcome the challenge with a smirk.
isn't it interesting how life has a plan and no matter how hard you try to take it in another direction you will end up going where you are meant to be. The challenge for most of us is being patient enough to wait for the plant o unfold as well as having the strength and determination to keep dreaming, keep trying, keep doing while the journey unfolds.
 

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In Loving Memory
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Stumbling onto something far bigger than myself

Deuce's log, January 13, 2010

We've all heard stories of past lives coming out to the surface…I cannot forget how crazy i thought the person who first suggested it to me was. Memories of being someone else? Where's the lithium? The past few months I've been biting my tongue, because memories are now something I cannot remove from my head.
I'm not crazy, but lately i have been remembering quite vivid memories about being someone else; About a past life. Toiling away in a large log home, I held a chisel in one hand and an oak mallet in the other. Guided by the light of a distant candle, I sat there for hours chipping away at a seemingly perfect back rest on a chair. I can see the scored groove on the flat river stone sitting on the table to my left, and I remember thinking it was going to irritate me if I had to sharpen the plank of cold steel again.
Sadly enough, I don't remember anything else. Maybe it was a dream I had that I was remembering when I was conscious again, but it felt strangely different from a dream. I felt the cold of the steel, I smelled the burning animal fat candle, I coughed and watched the wood chips fly from my breath….This was more than real to me. It was the beginning of an answer.
When I'm in the shop, I don't think about anything other than what I'm doing. My workshop is my escape from life, my vacation, if you will. The stress of everyday life lifts from my shoulders to burden someone elses world because I'm no longer in its world…I'm in my own.
Born the son of a mechanic, I was raised with limitless amounts of scrap metal laying around. While I could tinker with the machines and create life from them, I had to turn astray. I was living someones dream, I was being trained for someone elses job, not mine. While metal has its advantages, wood is what calls to me. My dreams, my art, my life…they can all be expressed thorough my pieces.
Also, in being a mechanics son, I had a limit to what I could do. Adventuring into woodworking with a limited amount of tools was like being castrated before i even began. I was always trying to make complicated cuts by hand and smoothing out the screw-ups with sandpaper. When you're 15, even the simplest thing as buying tools limits you greatly.
That year, my brother gave me a set of Stanley wood chisels, 1 inch, 3/4 inch, and a 1/2 inch. From then on, I don't recall a day I haven't had to pull a sliver out of my sock. I was an artist that received new paint brushes, and I was going to make the most of it.
My life is furniture. I dream in furniture, I draw furniture, I live and breath for the smell of fresh cut pine in the morning. I have a 2 inch binder notebook filled with design ideas with detailed parts lists, design schematics, blueprints, and its almost full, yet life has handed me some pretty raw deals over the years and I still dont have an adequate workshop. The table saw I have doesnt cut square, nor does the blade adjust for depth, nor is there a power switch. I have a compound miter saw with an 11 3/4 inch cut width…other than that, I have a jack plane, a block plane, the same fore-mentioned chisels, and a set of cheap Wal-mart carving tools. Needless to say, even the smallest project poses a huge time constraint because everything has to be meticulously calculated to work around those certain setbacks, and it takes even longer to finish, due to the flaws in the cuts and sanding everything by hand.
My work is far from perfect. With the right tools, I know I could be doing much more much faster, and much better, but I am still strapped for cash. No worries, though. I'm a glutton for punishment, and I still welcome the challenge with a smirk.
Sorry Duece, I guess I did sound a bit arrogant and smug. I don't have any dreams about a past life, but I also like to feel a connection with long gone woodworkers when I am working with hand tools. Of course they had to actually work hard while I am just having fun. I'm glad you are finding solace in your woodworking and I wish you well. I hope you will post some of your projects.
 

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Discussion Starter · #8 ·
Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of more slivers...

As I start the morning in my typical fashion of black coffee and cigarettes, I blow the sawdust off the lid of my travel mug and find my miniature files and carving tools. Such has been the highlight of my mornings, waking up to sharpen my tools for the day. Being laid off has been daunting my thoughts, and my car still being stuck in the impound has aided my lack of income into throwing me into a very dangerous state of being. I've been edgy lately, with those who deserve it and those who don't, and it is not their fault. Even if I apologize for being rash, it still doesn't take away from what was said, so during these periods, I find myself bringing my workshop inside and out of the cold while I avoid human interaction.
As wood shavings litter the carpet, I feel the worry and trouble of life slipping further and further out of my mind. My eyes start peeling back the illusion of reality and I can see what is in front of me for what it really is. I no longer see corners, I see angles. I dont see flaws, I see the start of the end. When reality blocks your vision, your vision never becomes reality.
As I toil in my solitude, I can barely make out the sound of someone briskly rapping on my door, and it takes a few knocks before I realize I wasn't imagining it. Not bothering to brush the chips from my lap, I stood to answer the door and heard the sound of retreating footsteps on my front porch. I slip my hand behind the drapes and see the idle vehicle in my driveway. I know who it is, but I am still not in any mood for conversation. Suddenly, I hear the footsteps again, very fast paced, as if he was determined to speak. Before I was able to reach the door, it swung open.
"Where have you been, Deuce? I've been trying to call for days and I get no answer from you? I'm your brother, you never ignore your fam…i…ly" The look on his face was more confusing to me than Quantum mechanics. His eyes darted around in horror as he saw what I had been doing. Even from the entryway, the amounts of knick knacks, clocks, lamps, and cluttered furniture was enough to horrify him.
"I've been…busy." I wasn't busy, I haven't been busy, I was reaching for a justification.
"What on Earth possessed you to build all of this?! My good God, man…You have enough furniture in here to fill four houses."
"Pick through then…No one has staked a claim to any of it, take what you want." I turned my back and walked back into my makeshift workshop. Josh took a few moments to absorb what he was looking at, but joined me shortly after.
"Why haven't you been around? I know you got laid off, and I know you're cars impounded, but I could have picked you up for poker night." He was making an attempt, and I respected his position, but there was no chance he'd talk me out of my hermitian behaviors.
"I've been busy." I repeated.
"Alright, I have to do this, and I'm sorry but you need it." The sight of his fingers slapping the front of his touch screen phone was more than my eyes could handle focusing on. I averted my attention and resumed working.
Within hours, my entire extended family was parked outside my house. Friends of the family were also in the midst of clutter. Their instructions were simple…clear the house. Within two hours, the house was clear enough to venture into the spare rooms. Hours of social intervention followed with family and close friends, telling me I needed to get out more, that I didn't need to shut everyone out. I could only smirk…
"You have such a wonderful gift, and everything you put yourself into winds up sparkling in the eyes of everyone around you. You create beauty from nothing, yet you trap yourself into pushing people away…Why?" I was shocked at how misunderstood I was in my mother's eyes. She could see the beauty in my work, but not in my actions…She only saw the bad side.

"You fail to see the true situation. I'm not happy with the outside world and I have taken it upon myself to shut it out. We are all dealt bad circumstances, and for many, they take it in stride. I am different, and my mind doesn't work that way. All of my anger, all of my pain, all of my sorrow…they don't go away and they never have. When life hands you lemons, make lemonade…right? Life dealt me a lot of ugliness, so I turned it into beauty. Each one of those pieces was a particular issue I had. The desk you snagged for Izzy's dorm room was when my license got revoked. The card table Josh has in the back of his truck was me getting laid off. The grandfather clock was when Megan left me, the fish tank stand was my medical bills…Every piece had a former life as something ugly that poisoned my happiness, and out of this pain comes happiness for others to enjoy. You can look at the situation any way you'd like, but don't tell me what I'm doing is harmful. It puts a smile on the face of people around me, which makes me feel slightly better about my life. Don't try to strip me of my therapy…"

45 total pieces left for a new home. All of them branded with my trademark, and all of them going to good homes. While I feel a bit of separation anxiety, I knew that this step was one of necessity. Word of mouth is a great start for my new job…My own venture into the world of professionalism. Time to start thinking bigger, thinking function, thinking artisticly…and most importantly, its time for me to focus on my life, my liberty, and the pursuit of more slivers…
 

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Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of more slivers...

As I start the morning in my typical fashion of black coffee and cigarettes, I blow the sawdust off the lid of my travel mug and find my miniature files and carving tools. Such has been the highlight of my mornings, waking up to sharpen my tools for the day. Being laid off has been daunting my thoughts, and my car still being stuck in the impound has aided my lack of income into throwing me into a very dangerous state of being. I've been edgy lately, with those who deserve it and those who don't, and it is not their fault. Even if I apologize for being rash, it still doesn't take away from what was said, so during these periods, I find myself bringing my workshop inside and out of the cold while I avoid human interaction.
As wood shavings litter the carpet, I feel the worry and trouble of life slipping further and further out of my mind. My eyes start peeling back the illusion of reality and I can see what is in front of me for what it really is. I no longer see corners, I see angles. I dont see flaws, I see the start of the end. When reality blocks your vision, your vision never becomes reality.
As I toil in my solitude, I can barely make out the sound of someone briskly rapping on my door, and it takes a few knocks before I realize I wasn't imagining it. Not bothering to brush the chips from my lap, I stood to answer the door and heard the sound of retreating footsteps on my front porch. I slip my hand behind the drapes and see the idle vehicle in my driveway. I know who it is, but I am still not in any mood for conversation. Suddenly, I hear the footsteps again, very fast paced, as if he was determined to speak. Before I was able to reach the door, it swung open.
"Where have you been, Deuce? I've been trying to call for days and I get no answer from you? I'm your brother, you never ignore your fam…i…ly" The look on his face was more confusing to me than Quantum mechanics. His eyes darted around in horror as he saw what I had been doing. Even from the entryway, the amounts of knick knacks, clocks, lamps, and cluttered furniture was enough to horrify him.
"I've been…busy." I wasn't busy, I haven't been busy, I was reaching for a justification.
"What on Earth possessed you to build all of this?! My good God, man…You have enough furniture in here to fill four houses."
"Pick through then…No one has staked a claim to any of it, take what you want." I turned my back and walked back into my makeshift workshop. Josh took a few moments to absorb what he was looking at, but joined me shortly after.
"Why haven't you been around? I know you got laid off, and I know you're cars impounded, but I could have picked you up for poker night." He was making an attempt, and I respected his position, but there was no chance he'd talk me out of my hermitian behaviors.
"I've been busy." I repeated.
"Alright, I have to do this, and I'm sorry but you need it." The sight of his fingers slapping the front of his touch screen phone was more than my eyes could handle focusing on. I averted my attention and resumed working.
Within hours, my entire extended family was parked outside my house. Friends of the family were also in the midst of clutter. Their instructions were simple…clear the house. Within two hours, the house was clear enough to venture into the spare rooms. Hours of social intervention followed with family and close friends, telling me I needed to get out more, that I didn't need to shut everyone out. I could only smirk…
"You have such a wonderful gift, and everything you put yourself into winds up sparkling in the eyes of everyone around you. You create beauty from nothing, yet you trap yourself into pushing people away…Why?" I was shocked at how misunderstood I was in my mother's eyes. She could see the beauty in my work, but not in my actions…She only saw the bad side.

"You fail to see the true situation. I'm not happy with the outside world and I have taken it upon myself to shut it out. We are all dealt bad circumstances, and for many, they take it in stride. I am different, and my mind doesn't work that way. All of my anger, all of my pain, all of my sorrow…they don't go away and they never have. When life hands you lemons, make lemonade…right? Life dealt me a lot of ugliness, so I turned it into beauty. Each one of those pieces was a particular issue I had. The desk you snagged for Izzy's dorm room was when my license got revoked. The card table Josh has in the back of his truck was me getting laid off. The grandfather clock was when Megan left me, the fish tank stand was my medical bills…Every piece had a former life as something ugly that poisoned my happiness, and out of this pain comes happiness for others to enjoy. You can look at the situation any way you'd like, but don't tell me what I'm doing is harmful. It puts a smile on the face of people around me, which makes me feel slightly better about my life. Don't try to strip me of my therapy…"

45 total pieces left for a new home. All of them branded with my trademark, and all of them going to good homes. While I feel a bit of separation anxiety, I knew that this step was one of necessity. Word of mouth is a great start for my new job…My own venture into the world of professionalism. Time to start thinking bigger, thinking function, thinking artisticly…and most importantly, its time for me to focus on my life, my liberty, and the pursuit of more slivers…
Deuce,

A couple things I have learned rather quickly about the woodworking community here.

1. Everyone here seems to respect the individual vision that each member has and will not consciously attempt to push their own opinions and ideas to change that vision.

2. We all support one another and offer help if the recipient is receptive. Whether it be a tip, technique, lesson, or the fellowship that comes from knowing another is going through similar struggles, dreams, concerns, etc.

By saying that, I can tell you that I don't necessarily agree with the philosophy that motivates your woodworking but recognize that everyone has their own load to carry and their own methods for handling that load. However, if you ever need someone to listen and offer an objective viewpoint, feel free to add me to your buddies list and send me a message anytime the urge strikes you.

I wish you well,

David
 

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Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of more slivers...

As I start the morning in my typical fashion of black coffee and cigarettes, I blow the sawdust off the lid of my travel mug and find my miniature files and carving tools. Such has been the highlight of my mornings, waking up to sharpen my tools for the day. Being laid off has been daunting my thoughts, and my car still being stuck in the impound has aided my lack of income into throwing me into a very dangerous state of being. I've been edgy lately, with those who deserve it and those who don't, and it is not their fault. Even if I apologize for being rash, it still doesn't take away from what was said, so during these periods, I find myself bringing my workshop inside and out of the cold while I avoid human interaction.
As wood shavings litter the carpet, I feel the worry and trouble of life slipping further and further out of my mind. My eyes start peeling back the illusion of reality and I can see what is in front of me for what it really is. I no longer see corners, I see angles. I dont see flaws, I see the start of the end. When reality blocks your vision, your vision never becomes reality.
As I toil in my solitude, I can barely make out the sound of someone briskly rapping on my door, and it takes a few knocks before I realize I wasn't imagining it. Not bothering to brush the chips from my lap, I stood to answer the door and heard the sound of retreating footsteps on my front porch. I slip my hand behind the drapes and see the idle vehicle in my driveway. I know who it is, but I am still not in any mood for conversation. Suddenly, I hear the footsteps again, very fast paced, as if he was determined to speak. Before I was able to reach the door, it swung open.
"Where have you been, Deuce? I've been trying to call for days and I get no answer from you? I'm your brother, you never ignore your fam…i…ly" The look on his face was more confusing to me than Quantum mechanics. His eyes darted around in horror as he saw what I had been doing. Even from the entryway, the amounts of knick knacks, clocks, lamps, and cluttered furniture was enough to horrify him.
"I've been…busy." I wasn't busy, I haven't been busy, I was reaching for a justification.
"What on Earth possessed you to build all of this?! My good God, man…You have enough furniture in here to fill four houses."
"Pick through then…No one has staked a claim to any of it, take what you want." I turned my back and walked back into my makeshift workshop. Josh took a few moments to absorb what he was looking at, but joined me shortly after.
"Why haven't you been around? I know you got laid off, and I know you're cars impounded, but I could have picked you up for poker night." He was making an attempt, and I respected his position, but there was no chance he'd talk me out of my hermitian behaviors.
"I've been busy." I repeated.
"Alright, I have to do this, and I'm sorry but you need it." The sight of his fingers slapping the front of his touch screen phone was more than my eyes could handle focusing on. I averted my attention and resumed working.
Within hours, my entire extended family was parked outside my house. Friends of the family were also in the midst of clutter. Their instructions were simple…clear the house. Within two hours, the house was clear enough to venture into the spare rooms. Hours of social intervention followed with family and close friends, telling me I needed to get out more, that I didn't need to shut everyone out. I could only smirk…
"You have such a wonderful gift, and everything you put yourself into winds up sparkling in the eyes of everyone around you. You create beauty from nothing, yet you trap yourself into pushing people away…Why?" I was shocked at how misunderstood I was in my mother's eyes. She could see the beauty in my work, but not in my actions…She only saw the bad side.

"You fail to see the true situation. I'm not happy with the outside world and I have taken it upon myself to shut it out. We are all dealt bad circumstances, and for many, they take it in stride. I am different, and my mind doesn't work that way. All of my anger, all of my pain, all of my sorrow…they don't go away and they never have. When life hands you lemons, make lemonade…right? Life dealt me a lot of ugliness, so I turned it into beauty. Each one of those pieces was a particular issue I had. The desk you snagged for Izzy's dorm room was when my license got revoked. The card table Josh has in the back of his truck was me getting laid off. The grandfather clock was when Megan left me, the fish tank stand was my medical bills…Every piece had a former life as something ugly that poisoned my happiness, and out of this pain comes happiness for others to enjoy. You can look at the situation any way you'd like, but don't tell me what I'm doing is harmful. It puts a smile on the face of people around me, which makes me feel slightly better about my life. Don't try to strip me of my therapy…"

45 total pieces left for a new home. All of them branded with my trademark, and all of them going to good homes. While I feel a bit of separation anxiety, I knew that this step was one of necessity. Word of mouth is a great start for my new job…My own venture into the world of professionalism. Time to start thinking bigger, thinking function, thinking artisticly…and most importantly, its time for me to focus on my life, my liberty, and the pursuit of more slivers…
I loved the post. I could read an entire novel built around the central character and his tools. Fantastic writing. I am sure things will get better and when they do, I hope you will continue to take us along with you on this journey.
 

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Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of more slivers...

As I start the morning in my typical fashion of black coffee and cigarettes, I blow the sawdust off the lid of my travel mug and find my miniature files and carving tools. Such has been the highlight of my mornings, waking up to sharpen my tools for the day. Being laid off has been daunting my thoughts, and my car still being stuck in the impound has aided my lack of income into throwing me into a very dangerous state of being. I've been edgy lately, with those who deserve it and those who don't, and it is not their fault. Even if I apologize for being rash, it still doesn't take away from what was said, so during these periods, I find myself bringing my workshop inside and out of the cold while I avoid human interaction.
As wood shavings litter the carpet, I feel the worry and trouble of life slipping further and further out of my mind. My eyes start peeling back the illusion of reality and I can see what is in front of me for what it really is. I no longer see corners, I see angles. I dont see flaws, I see the start of the end. When reality blocks your vision, your vision never becomes reality.
As I toil in my solitude, I can barely make out the sound of someone briskly rapping on my door, and it takes a few knocks before I realize I wasn't imagining it. Not bothering to brush the chips from my lap, I stood to answer the door and heard the sound of retreating footsteps on my front porch. I slip my hand behind the drapes and see the idle vehicle in my driveway. I know who it is, but I am still not in any mood for conversation. Suddenly, I hear the footsteps again, very fast paced, as if he was determined to speak. Before I was able to reach the door, it swung open.
"Where have you been, Deuce? I've been trying to call for days and I get no answer from you? I'm your brother, you never ignore your fam…i…ly" The look on his face was more confusing to me than Quantum mechanics. His eyes darted around in horror as he saw what I had been doing. Even from the entryway, the amounts of knick knacks, clocks, lamps, and cluttered furniture was enough to horrify him.
"I've been…busy." I wasn't busy, I haven't been busy, I was reaching for a justification.
"What on Earth possessed you to build all of this?! My good God, man…You have enough furniture in here to fill four houses."
"Pick through then…No one has staked a claim to any of it, take what you want." I turned my back and walked back into my makeshift workshop. Josh took a few moments to absorb what he was looking at, but joined me shortly after.
"Why haven't you been around? I know you got laid off, and I know you're cars impounded, but I could have picked you up for poker night." He was making an attempt, and I respected his position, but there was no chance he'd talk me out of my hermitian behaviors.
"I've been busy." I repeated.
"Alright, I have to do this, and I'm sorry but you need it." The sight of his fingers slapping the front of his touch screen phone was more than my eyes could handle focusing on. I averted my attention and resumed working.
Within hours, my entire extended family was parked outside my house. Friends of the family were also in the midst of clutter. Their instructions were simple…clear the house. Within two hours, the house was clear enough to venture into the spare rooms. Hours of social intervention followed with family and close friends, telling me I needed to get out more, that I didn't need to shut everyone out. I could only smirk…
"You have such a wonderful gift, and everything you put yourself into winds up sparkling in the eyes of everyone around you. You create beauty from nothing, yet you trap yourself into pushing people away…Why?" I was shocked at how misunderstood I was in my mother's eyes. She could see the beauty in my work, but not in my actions…She only saw the bad side.

"You fail to see the true situation. I'm not happy with the outside world and I have taken it upon myself to shut it out. We are all dealt bad circumstances, and for many, they take it in stride. I am different, and my mind doesn't work that way. All of my anger, all of my pain, all of my sorrow…they don't go away and they never have. When life hands you lemons, make lemonade…right? Life dealt me a lot of ugliness, so I turned it into beauty. Each one of those pieces was a particular issue I had. The desk you snagged for Izzy's dorm room was when my license got revoked. The card table Josh has in the back of his truck was me getting laid off. The grandfather clock was when Megan left me, the fish tank stand was my medical bills…Every piece had a former life as something ugly that poisoned my happiness, and out of this pain comes happiness for others to enjoy. You can look at the situation any way you'd like, but don't tell me what I'm doing is harmful. It puts a smile on the face of people around me, which makes me feel slightly better about my life. Don't try to strip me of my therapy…"

45 total pieces left for a new home. All of them branded with my trademark, and all of them going to good homes. While I feel a bit of separation anxiety, I knew that this step was one of necessity. Word of mouth is a great start for my new job…My own venture into the world of professionalism. Time to start thinking bigger, thinking function, thinking artisticly…and most importantly, its time for me to focus on my life, my liberty, and the pursuit of more slivers…
Thank you. I know my methods of madness arent exactly perfect, but neither am I. While I feel the best way for me to deal with my issues is depersonalization, I don't really do it intentionally. It just kind of happens. I do avoid people a little more than I should, but its not like years on end…sometimes its a few days, longest, it was 3 months. I have some pretty big personality flaws that tend to damage relationships, and instead of letting myself say or do something that might ruin a friendship or relationship, I find it best to just get out of the radar. I'm good though, I appreciate the concern.
 

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Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of more slivers...

As I start the morning in my typical fashion of black coffee and cigarettes, I blow the sawdust off the lid of my travel mug and find my miniature files and carving tools. Such has been the highlight of my mornings, waking up to sharpen my tools for the day. Being laid off has been daunting my thoughts, and my car still being stuck in the impound has aided my lack of income into throwing me into a very dangerous state of being. I've been edgy lately, with those who deserve it and those who don't, and it is not their fault. Even if I apologize for being rash, it still doesn't take away from what was said, so during these periods, I find myself bringing my workshop inside and out of the cold while I avoid human interaction.
As wood shavings litter the carpet, I feel the worry and trouble of life slipping further and further out of my mind. My eyes start peeling back the illusion of reality and I can see what is in front of me for what it really is. I no longer see corners, I see angles. I dont see flaws, I see the start of the end. When reality blocks your vision, your vision never becomes reality.
As I toil in my solitude, I can barely make out the sound of someone briskly rapping on my door, and it takes a few knocks before I realize I wasn't imagining it. Not bothering to brush the chips from my lap, I stood to answer the door and heard the sound of retreating footsteps on my front porch. I slip my hand behind the drapes and see the idle vehicle in my driveway. I know who it is, but I am still not in any mood for conversation. Suddenly, I hear the footsteps again, very fast paced, as if he was determined to speak. Before I was able to reach the door, it swung open.
"Where have you been, Deuce? I've been trying to call for days and I get no answer from you? I'm your brother, you never ignore your fam…i…ly" The look on his face was more confusing to me than Quantum mechanics. His eyes darted around in horror as he saw what I had been doing. Even from the entryway, the amounts of knick knacks, clocks, lamps, and cluttered furniture was enough to horrify him.
"I've been…busy." I wasn't busy, I haven't been busy, I was reaching for a justification.
"What on Earth possessed you to build all of this?! My good God, man…You have enough furniture in here to fill four houses."
"Pick through then…No one has staked a claim to any of it, take what you want." I turned my back and walked back into my makeshift workshop. Josh took a few moments to absorb what he was looking at, but joined me shortly after.
"Why haven't you been around? I know you got laid off, and I know you're cars impounded, but I could have picked you up for poker night." He was making an attempt, and I respected his position, but there was no chance he'd talk me out of my hermitian behaviors.
"I've been busy." I repeated.
"Alright, I have to do this, and I'm sorry but you need it." The sight of his fingers slapping the front of his touch screen phone was more than my eyes could handle focusing on. I averted my attention and resumed working.
Within hours, my entire extended family was parked outside my house. Friends of the family were also in the midst of clutter. Their instructions were simple…clear the house. Within two hours, the house was clear enough to venture into the spare rooms. Hours of social intervention followed with family and close friends, telling me I needed to get out more, that I didn't need to shut everyone out. I could only smirk…
"You have such a wonderful gift, and everything you put yourself into winds up sparkling in the eyes of everyone around you. You create beauty from nothing, yet you trap yourself into pushing people away…Why?" I was shocked at how misunderstood I was in my mother's eyes. She could see the beauty in my work, but not in my actions…She only saw the bad side.

"You fail to see the true situation. I'm not happy with the outside world and I have taken it upon myself to shut it out. We are all dealt bad circumstances, and for many, they take it in stride. I am different, and my mind doesn't work that way. All of my anger, all of my pain, all of my sorrow…they don't go away and they never have. When life hands you lemons, make lemonade…right? Life dealt me a lot of ugliness, so I turned it into beauty. Each one of those pieces was a particular issue I had. The desk you snagged for Izzy's dorm room was when my license got revoked. The card table Josh has in the back of his truck was me getting laid off. The grandfather clock was when Megan left me, the fish tank stand was my medical bills…Every piece had a former life as something ugly that poisoned my happiness, and out of this pain comes happiness for others to enjoy. You can look at the situation any way you'd like, but don't tell me what I'm doing is harmful. It puts a smile on the face of people around me, which makes me feel slightly better about my life. Don't try to strip me of my therapy…"

45 total pieces left for a new home. All of them branded with my trademark, and all of them going to good homes. While I feel a bit of separation anxiety, I knew that this step was one of necessity. Word of mouth is a great start for my new job…My own venture into the world of professionalism. Time to start thinking bigger, thinking function, thinking artisticly…and most importantly, its time for me to focus on my life, my liberty, and the pursuit of more slivers…
Good to hear Deuce. I understand a little on the hermit lifestyle. I work from home as a computer systems analyst and there are times when I realized I was a little bit too isolated. Mostly when I notice that my conversations with the postal carrier seem to be a little too long and I start seeing him run past my mailbox instead of walking.

Sometimes we need to be alone, but that is much different than feeling alone. I hope I didn't step on your toes, but I just wanted to make sure you knew that the latter did not have to be necessary.

Keep working on those projects,

David
 
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