just writing

I have some assignments and I have to get cracking on them so here goes.

Was a time in the life of everything when it was at its peak. Pick a subject and write about it. Do we do our part to maintain that peak time? To diminish that peak time? To transform that peak time?

Use to meet on a cement island with some buddies. We would don our hats and saddle up and cruise south down a winding river road in the country. Don't do it any more. The road has been ironed out, the buddies are scattered, times have changed. Are those trips still viable?

We are a nation of collectors. I have enough woodworking handtools for 20 men, I have boxes of charming old film cameras and the world has gone digital, I have a thousand books and not enough time to read them all. What is this obsession with having? Where is the obsession with doing?

I was in the civil war. Well I was one of those re-enactors thirty some years ago. We put on simple uniforms and kit and went out and had fun. There are stitch counters today that wouldn't let us do that at their events. When does the appearance of something begin to take on more importance than the doing of something?

I'm putting up a sign in my office. "Why are all the NEW IDEAS something that I worked on a few years ago?"

There is a key to maintaining enthusiasm. It's called participation.

A fellow I know wants to build a woodworking shop for himself. I advised him to start with the project and then buy the tools.

I hear that auto repair shops like to hire poor people. The reason is that if you grow up poor then you have been forced to maintain your own vehicles. Your family couldn't afford to pay someone else to do it for them. Necessity is the mother of good mechanics.

Back in the teen age of the last century the world transformed. What was once viable became obsolete but people kept on doing it anyway because they liked it. It became a sport.

Crossed the country back in '84. Stopped for a quick lunch somewhere in Colorado. Talked to two brothers going the other way. Nice guys. Some lady pulled into the spot behind them, reached across and locked the door, pulled her kids out the far side.

That's ten rough ones. Seven thousand more words to go.