Okay, so he's not the tallest pole in the fence row; he's one of my best friends, he's a very, very skilled craftsman, and, uh...he's got a bandsaw that works! Mine ist kaput! I know the bushings are shot and drive is starting to occasionally seize; hey, it's a nine-inch bench top model and it's lasted me over ten years! It died with dignity!
So I mentioned that Dobby, actually his name is Paul, is quite the gifted talent with wood, metal, and clocks. Yes, clocks. Walking into Paul's shop is stepping back many years to "ye old clock shop." He's either fixing, restoring, or making clocks. A carpenter by trade and passion, he's been a supervisor for several years and is on the verge of retirement. How ironic that at the point he wouldn't need to worry about time, he's spending time with it!
I look forward to seeing him in his shop. There we'll follow a strict protocol: there will be hellos followed by the latest joke, we'll sit and perhaps smoke our pipes complaining about and discussing the weather, I'll find his latest project and he'll make a small smile through his thick, smoke-stained moustache saying "watch this!"
At some point I'll get around to cutting the long curve on the two arms of my Morris chair project (maybe two minutes worth of work), and I'll leave an hour later knowing time is in good hands.
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