What it means to Me to be an Ally

An ally can have a number of meanings, for example, a sovereign or state associated with another by treaty or league, or one that is associated with another as a helper : a person or group that provides assistance and support in an ongoing effort, activity, or struggle, or a plant or animal linked to another by genetic or taxonomic proximity.  In this Oratory I want to talk about what it means to me to be a person and group that provides assistance and support in an ongoing effort, activity, or struggle - which includes marginalized groups of folks for the various ways we are different.  

I want to start by talking about two good friends of mine, Jade and Cody, I have changed both those names to protect them.  I knew Cody for about 6 years, and I have known Jade for a bit over a year.  The thing that leads us to know each other was technology, we are both technologists in one form or another and we share a love of all things nerdy and technical.  

When Cody and I first met she identified as male.  When she decided to come out and that she also said she was going to transition and would start identifying as female.  Our conversations were definitely different and took on new meaning for me.  As someone who identifies as a CIS gendered, as a white male in a position of power and privilege.  I did not fully understand and am a naturally curious person and she helped me gain a different perspective and a better understanding so… 

Those early conversations were a bit uncomfortable for both of us I think.  That discomfort is all gone now btw.  As I listened to story after story about her having to hide and never being able to be authentically herself, it was all very sad and hard for me to hear.  I never even thought this much about the experiences of someone who changes how they identify if I am being honest because I was not aware of any of my friends that had.

I was and am profoundly disappointed and sad that ANYONE would have to hide who they truly are.  For those who know me, you know I am not a hider of any damn thing, and my privilege has allowed me that luxury in life.  I simply cannot even begin to understand what it would be like to not feel safe enough to express myself in a way that was not authentic and true to who I am.  I recognize that as a privilege and realized that many do not get the chance to truly be their authentic self. 

Jade is the first person, at least that I aware of, that I had a relationship with that was transitioning.  She is the first person I have been able to be a tiny part of (observationally for the most part) a transition like that.  This experience was all very new for me.  Over that transition I got to watch my friend evolve from who she was into who she is now.  It has been an amazing experience for me to watch her turn into someone completely different.  The years of hiding behind a façade and dealing with the fear mostly melted away, at least from my perspective.  It was like watching a caterpillar going through its metamorphosis into a butterfly and I was honored to be an observer. 

As a 58 year old white man living in America, I cannot recall a time where I was unable to be 100% myself.  As flawed as I am, I have a certainty about who I am in the world that has never been questioned and I have never been marginalized for any of the ways I identify and operate in the world.  Well, I am sure most of my friends have said on multiple occasions, what the fuck Smitty but that is more related to my outlandishness vs the ways I identify myself. 

Jade’s journey is still a difficult one, mostly because of the prejudice, intolerance and hate and that makes me both sad and angry.  And why, simply because someone has some prejudice or hate in their heart?  Or because their particular religion tells them it is immoral?  What bullshit!  I get mad thinking about it, who the fuck is anyone in this country to impose their baggage, in the many, many forms that takes, on anyone else, regardless the reasons.         

I want to be clear in saying that I am an ally to those in marginalized groups, regardless of the group.  Or at least I am committed to be the best ally I can be as strive to be better at it.  And when I say marginalized, I mean any group who has not experienced the world in the same ways I have. 

I will defend and fight for anyone who cannot flow through life in this country in the same ways I can and do.  I don’t care if it is race, gender, sexual orientation, religion, or across any of the myriad differences that exist.  I am here for you as an ally because I believe strongly that you deserve the same rights and privileges I have enjoyed, and mostly taken for granted, my whole life.

I feel that way for a few reasons, first and foremost is empathy for another human being struggling along in life carrying whatever weight they happen to be toting around in life.  And make no mistake, every damn one of us is struggling with carrying our own bag of things, some more like a small carryon and others have packed up a whole moving truck full.  Regardless, we all have our own shit we struggle with and deal with on our journey in silence so…  I try to live by this simple rule – BE KIND! 

As decent humans I feel we have a responsibility to pause, put out our hand and say “what can I do to help you in this moment”.  Simply because as humans we need to look out for each other.  This is exactly how we outlasted all the things that wanted to eat us on our way to the top of the food chain.  We relied on someone to holler – LION, RUN.  Humans are built to help each other out when the road gets rough, and we always have been. 

So as we rolled into June, National Pride month, I decided this was an opportunity for me to step into my role as an ally for LBGTQIA2S+ community by making a statement.  For those who don’t know, LGTBQIA2S+ is an acronym for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer and/or Questioning, Intersex, Asexual, Two-Spirit, and the countless affirmative ways in which people choose to self-identify.  The statement I decided to make was to fly both the American Flag and the Progress Pride Flag on my truck for Pride month. 

I did not want to make permanent modifications to my truck for the gigantic flags I see on trucks, so I decided to order smaller ones, the ones that go in when ya roll up your window.  Both were made in America and our country’s flag was one inch larger in both dimensions, making it slightly larger and placing it slightly above the Progress Pride Flag.

As I did this, I was reflecting on the lived experiences of my friend Jade.  When I told her what I was doing with the flags she shared she would not feel safe doing something like that, and that was again profoundly sad to me.  Bride actually said to me “you are going to get shot”.  I doubted that would be the case but did suspect there would be reactions to them flying together.

As someone who served our country for 10 years under the ideals our flag represents, I find the overall intolerance and judgement about Pride month particularly offensive.  I feel like our flag over the last few years have come to represent the opposite of the ideals our flag represents, and I spent time defending, American values or whatever you want to call them. 

Much of my irritation was around the feeling that our flag had been co-opted by group(s) who do not, in my view, represent the ideals that our flag represents.  I mean think about it, when we see a vehicle flying the flag now (not on a holiday) it is mostly understood, at least to me, that that person is probably white, probably republican, probably some version of a Christian, and most seem to be angry.  Before ya say I am stereo typing folks, I would add that generally speaking there are other iconology present on the vehicle that would reinforce that idea.  One can see what color the person is, I can see the maga sticker or hat on, usually there is a cross or other religious reference and in my experience they tend to be argumentative.  So while I am stereo-typing it is based simply on what I have observed.

So when I talk about ideals the American flag stands for, I wanted to share with you how I think about those ideals.  We are all created equal, we have certain unalienable rights, such as life, liberty and pursuit of happiness.  When I think about freedoms, I am of a firm belief that we have freedom “of” things not freedom “from” and there is wide gulch between those two things.  We literally formed this country because we were sick of folks in power (King George III) telling us how we should live and how we should go about our lives.

In freedom of, we each have the right to be whoever the hell we want to be and do whatever the hell we want to, and obviously there are limits to that as we cannot go around plundering, maiming and killing.  Individual freedoms are a key part of that declaration, we are meant to be free from ANYONE applying their bullshit on us.  Key to that was freedom of religion, so key as matter of fact it was adopted in the very first amendment of the Constitution.  “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof”. Meaning we can practice whatever religion we want to, and NONE AT ALL if we so chose.

The none at all folks, which I consider myself, have their freedoms protected by the constitution, freedom of choice, the choice not to be governed or oppressed by someone else’s beliefs and morals.  That by the way was a key part of the conversation back in the day as that is exactly what the King and church of England were doing to us, one religion one voice.  Our Founding Fathers did not ever want the religious establishment power to tell the rest of us what to do, based on whatever particular religious dogma rose to prevalence in that moment.  Not from the government or anyone else.

I wanted to set a baseline for what the United States is as a country and why we did not accept the oppressive life that being a simple colonist was, based on the original governing documents.  That also is where my views are formed on most things in my life.  Most of the opposition I hear around LGBTQ rights are morally based.  Moral grounding in my experience tends to be tightly interwoven with religious beliefs, not that heathens like me cannot have morals.  I have been pointed to various passages in the bible that tell me why something might be wrong through the lens of that particular religion. 

I find that hilarious in most cases as there is a lot of other things in that bible I find even worse, stoning wives, killing everyone on the planet with a flood and on and on.  Religion only has the value we place on it, and while I admire those who are true believers the religions themselves have no inherent moral certitude or value nor do they get to decide what is moral or not for anyone else.  My understanding is God is all about Love, not hate, of ANYTHING – at least from my reading of the bible. 

Back to our declaration of Independence, for which we recently celebrated the signing of, I hold these truths to be self-evident, that everyone is created equal, that we are all endowed by whatever Creator or no creator, with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness - I think we need more of that, a lot more of it.  And a note, it does say creator and not God on purpose.

So let’s fast forward a bit to the end of pride month and I realized it was time to take the flags off my truck.  I am not a fan of any adornments on my vehicles, bumper stickers, flags or anything else that does not belong so there is also that.  As I took them off I realized how simple it was for me to take them off and walk away and my life goes back to normal, or whatever version of normal I live. 

I could simply walk away from all the mean ass people who flipped me off, cursed me, and all the other intimidation tactics deployed towards me over the month of flying those two flags.  I got in that month a VERY small sampling of the abuse endured by those in the LGTBQIA2S+ community and I did not like it, I was stunned by the abuse and intimidation endured on a daily and regular basis. 

This experience has absolutely solidified my allyship for anyone who may find themselves in a marginalized group, for whatever your differences happen to be.  The fact you are not allowed to simply be yourselves is offensive to me in so many ways.  While not an exact fit for this conversion, I was reminded of one of Brides favorite songs by Kris Kristofferson called  Jesus Was A Capricorn.  So, I say to Y’all, if your looking for someone to look down on, help yourself to me Brother! 

And please know, I am an your ally if you EVER need one.

I wanted to share a couple of examples of the reactions to flying both those flags.  

·  ** The most common reaction was to simply flip me the bird, which I received multiple times a days.  I  also got what I considered glares and animated conversation in that car with passengers. 

·  ** I was sitting at a light turning left and I saw a woman giving me two thumbs up and smiling ear to ear.

·  ** I received heartfelt thank yous from so many folks, not quite as many as had a negative reaction but they were there supporting my decision to be an ally.

·  ** I received a text from a friend of mine who simply said “thank you for not letting the bigots co-opt the American flag, nice statement.”

·  ** I pulled into the Lowes and parked behind a truck that had a Trump sticker on the bumper, I parked there because it was a Veteran spot, not to provoke a reaction.  He was just getting out as I was and took a look at my flags and I could tell he was not happy.  Sure enough he asked why ya flying those together, to which I responded it is about being inclusive of those who are different than us. 

He then asked where is our flag, he was a white man about my age I guessed.  I found that an ironic question as he was wearing a shirt with the stars and bars emblazoned on it, so of course I said isn’t that what you have on your shirt?  I followed up with that I felt like that flag represented exclusion of those who may be different and I stood for something different. 

Well, he got loud and angry and I thought for sure he was gonna whip my ass right there in the Veterans parking spot in the Lowes parking lot.  His wife or girlfriend helped deescalate and then went on into Lowes, I waited a minute or two and went in a different door to avoid any further confrontation, as getting my ass whooped was not part of my plans for the day.   

** I was down in Portland running an errand when I had an interaction with a person asking for money at a corner by a traffic light.  I have always kept cash in my truck so I can offer assistance to anyone who is asking because who am I to judge their predicament.   Anyway, I handed him 4 bucks and he said thank you.  Then he said I DO NOT approve of your flags, to which I asked which one?  He mentioned the pride flag, I let him know that it was technically the progress pride flag.

I said “I notice you waited until I gave you a few bucks before saying anything.”  He looked a little shocked that I said anything and stared for moment.  Then he said “fuck you” and took off like Jessie Owens running for gold.  I just laughed at how silly I thought that whole interaction was.  

·    And I think my favorite one, I stopped to let someone turn left into my lane because traffic was an absolute mess and I knew it would be a while before he could get out.  I flashed my lights and he started pulling out, then saw the two flags, stopped and flipped me off with both fingers and would not pull out.  Hahahaha, it seemed so silly to me.

So, I ask each of you to ponder ways you can be an ally for those who are marginalized in the myriad ways we marginalize folks.  If ya can’t find a path to do that, I ask that you please follow my Mom’s advice when I was a kid, if ya got nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

 

What could a raccoon and an Incentive Spirtometer possibly have in common??

So, the two things are a Raccoon, which is how this story gets started, and the other is an Incentive Spirometer which is where the story is now.  This blog will tell of my 6 month journey between the two as well as some next steps I will be taking that will finalize that very same journey.   

 

So about six months ago I got home from work one day to find my trash scattered all over my driveway, all over the grass and later I found all through the woods on my property.  I have  kept our trash cans on the side our garage for the 7 years we have lived at Smithlandia.  I spent a couple of hours with trash bags cleaning up a scattered mess that included everything from a pizza box to plastic wrapper a pork roast came in.

 

As far as mitigation strategies, I set about scrubbing out my trash cans, the Rubber Maid 50 gallon commercial model.  I used Dawn Dishwashing liquid and for reference they were pretty damn grungy.  I then bleached the hell out of them, inside and out.  I cleaned thoroughly the area where my cans sat and put out mountain lion piss I picked up at the local feed store.  That last bit was recommended to chase off Raccoons, predator scent thing I guess.

 

I also decided I would keep the garbage in bags in the corner of the garage for a month as well, hoping the little raccoon bastards would forget and find new places to find and enjoy a dinner.  I spread mountain lion piss around my cans and along every path and all the places I found my garbage scattered about.  That was at the recommendation of Bill at the local feed store to chase Raccoons completely away, the thought being they know which predatory animal leaves that particular piss smell, and vacate the premises.

 

I reapplied the cougar piss once a week in all those areas and all the while slowly increased the perimeter.  After a bit longer than a month I felt I was safe to put my cans back along the side of the garage.  Because we recycle it takes about 3-4 weeks to fill up three of those 50 gallon cans.  It was a Wednesday afternoon when I put the first bag in the first can, optimistic the raccoons were gone.

 

WRONG, WRONG, and WRONG.  I came out in the morning and it looked like the first time they got into them, only there was not as much stuff since I had only one 13 gallon tall kitchen trash bag in there, even though the lids were removed from all three cans.  DAMN IT, I remember thinking.  I also began to realize the power of opposable thumbs.

 

It was the first time I considered maybe they were not raccoons and maybe it was a larger hybrid, a bearcoon perhaps.   That is what Bride calls them after seeing two rather large ones some time back.  What other explanation could there be?  The only critter out here, as I see it,  not afraid of a mountain lion has got to be a bearcoon, or just a plain bear.  Since I had seen no evidence of anything other than a coon, I am pretty sure that is what is was, a persistent one but one all the same was my thinking on it.

 

One more trip to the feed store and another conversation with Bill, who was not so sure as he was the last time we spoke.  He recommended a few other things to put out, which I bought and put out.  Again with the routine washing and bleaching the cans as well as keeping the trash in the garage for another month. 

 

I was not as sure this time and I was right to be apprehensive because the next morning after putting one bag in there, you guessed it my shit was scattered all over the place.  I really did not want to keep my trash in the garage, and neither did Bride which was an even more important point.  Damnit!

 

I have a small wood shed across from the house and I really did not want to tote the trash out there each time I had some.  Regardless of what I wanted, I had little choice, unless I wanted to continue to pick up my trash after the little bastard, or bastards, scattered it around.  I was not happy but rearranged the wood shed in a way that provided me a place to put my cans and easy access when I had to toss stuff in them.

 

Keep in mind there are a number of steps to the wood shed, that’s a clue on how we got to the Incentive Spirometer.  So over the next few months I grew accustomed walking over there to throw out the trash.  BTW, I take the trash up to the Waste Management transfer station to save money over pick up at the end of my driveway.  That saves me over $100 a month so while unrelated to this story it is still a thing cause a hundred bucks is a hundred bucks.

 

I had nary an incident since that day, no more trails down to my cans, no more scattered garbage and no sign of anything or anyone even trying to get to my trash.  Life was good at Smithlandia and I was happy, at least until last Tuesday night.  There is one other relevant fact that I want to introduce into evidence to insure y’all understand the rest of the story.

 

That fact is that I have never, not one single time, taken the trash out when it was dark out.  Yeah, the damn time changes are wrapped in this story as well and I think by this time you all have an understanding about feelings on that topic.   So yeah, that is just one more contributing factor, time changes for DST is BULLSHIT.

 

So early Tuesday evening, early or not it was dark out due to the dumbassedness of DST changes, I took the trash out.  You will notice going up the doors the concrete and wooden steps.  After turning my porch light on I wandered over and up into the shed, opened the door and tossed the bag into the can. 

 

I will mention that the porch light did nothing to illuminate my path or the inside the shed.  I remember as I closed the door thinking I will turn on the mercury vapor lights on the corners of the 2 story part of my house if I come out here again in the dark.  That was still on my mind as I started to descend the wooden steps. 

 

I will also note that I had slipped my black tenny runners on because there was still snow, slush and an overall wetness to everything and I did not want my feet to get soaked and cold. I was looking up at the house wondering how much light those lights would throw out here for the next time I run trash over here as we descended onto the concrete steps. 

 

Well my next step shifted my attention for lighting to footing.  My foot missed the landing and went down one step, that juts out.  that sudden feeling of weightlessness was quickly replaced by the sudden stop when my foot hit that next step down.  

 

Well, at that point my body was already in motion and Newtons laws of motion ran through my mind.  In the first law, an object will not change its motion unless a force acts on it. In the second law, the force on an object is equal to its mass times its acceleration. In the third law, when two objects interact, they apply forces to each other of equal magnitude and opposite direction.

 

Well I was pretty sure the second law was at play, as well as the first, my mass was in motion towards the ground and it was accelerating with nothing to stop it.  Well the next thing that came to mind was figuring out how to land in way that would not kill me.  I recall thinking I need to loosen up a bit and get my left arm ready to use as the start of a roll as not to just go splat on my face as I got close to the blacktop of my driveway.

 

I hit with a thud and while I am still not sure if the landing knocked the wind out of me or the pain of the landed was so great it took every bit of air out of my lungs.  It really was a difference without a distinction I realized as I lay in the cold slushy mess that was on the driveway, it was 33 degrees at the moment.  Basically the force of the fall was concentrated on my hand or about the surface area of a sledge hammer, which is what it felt like I was hit with.

 

So there I am, just laying there, not able to breath and already feeling the chill of laying in the slush looking at the house wondering if this is how it ends for me.  while I am unsure how long it took to get my breath back but, I only knew I recognized I could not breath, started getting a bit freaked out by that and realizing I needed to go to my happy places in order to help me stay calm while it did come back.  I suspect all that was like 10 or maybe 15 seconds on the outside.

 

It did come back and I just laid there looking at the front door and gasping a bit to catch up on the missing air.  I stayed laying there for at least a minute, maybe more, as I took stock.  Slowly working my way around my body looking for things that were or were not working.  

 

My shoulder was sore, and later I learned bleeding.  My left hand was scuffed and bleeding as well as being really sore, road rash.  My leg close to my knee was also bleeding, I was in shorts so there’s that too.  My ribs on the left side were screaming, it was very acute pain.  My left leg also felt tender.  After wiggling all my toes and fingers I tried to get up.  First attempting to roll off my back. 

 

That was when my body said, dude you are old so not so fast.  My side felt like it was on fire and the attempt nearly took my breath away again, but I made it over to my right side still laying in the slush.  I rested in that position for a couple of minutes, and was starting to feel the cold as pain.

 

I eventually got to my feet and shuffled towards the front door, most on my mind at that point was getting out of the freezing ass wet clothes I had on.  As I was doing that I realized I was unable to take a regular breath without stabbing pain on my left side on my ribs.  I recall thinking this is what it feels like to get hit with a sledge hammer. 

 

I also realized I was starting to hurt all over, the realization of how fortunate I was not falling any further than I did.  I got changed and situated in the living room in my chair.  It was hell getting up and down, the pain in my ribs brought tears to my just standing up. 

 

Bride of course wanted to take me to the ER right away.  We did decide that I had only been to ER one time in our 30+ years together.   Probably countless trips to various doc in the box or minute clinics but only once to the ER.

 

Having banged my self up in many ways over the years I have gotten pretty good at reading what the body is writing.  Everything moved, no bones sticking out, only discomfort when I moved around.  After much dialog on it I convinced her that if the morning it was the same, we would go.  No sense in spending ER dollars unless necessary has been my standing policy.

 

I did not sleep worth a shit, could not find a position that was even remotely comfortable. Ended up getting out of bed around 4am and had some coffee.   The pain was stabbing in my side so I wondered if maybe I broke one of those ribs, I took some Advil and waited for Bride to wake up, we were going to the ER. 

 

My thinking was if it were broke, maybe I am causing more damage so off to the ER we went.   The waiting room was, of course, filled with sick people.  Coughing and hacking and spreading ebola, covid and probably the bubonic plague, at least that was my thinking at the time.  I finally made it to the triage nurse to whom I relayed my story of woe. 

 

In the course of our conversation I learned the hospital itself was full as was the ER, the flu had brough the place to its knees.  Amy, that was her name, told me even if it were broke there is nothing they can do for that, great I remember thinking.  She took the vitals and let me know the doctor would be in soon, I was still in the triage room.

 

Doctor Johnson came in and asked more questions and finally said, lets get that x-rayed, to which I was grateful as that was really the purpose of the trip.  Someone came and got me and back to the waiting room I went, awaiting word.  After about 15 minutes I heard my name and went into a treatment room, as you will recall there were no ER beds.

 

We shared a few words, I listened to her recommendation to take Tylenol and Mortin and alternate between the two for pain.  She also suggested ice if the pain got too great.  She asked if I wanted something for the pain and I declined.  While Bride swears that is a macho thing, I have completely different reasons.

 

For most of my life any time pain medication is offered I don’t take it.  I consider moments like that as learning opportunities.  If I have to sit in pain for a few days because I did something stupid, in this case taking the trash out and up the steps in the dark I am more likely to remember the lesson life just gave me.

 

So we are six days later and I feel much better, still can finally take a deep breath and I am no longer having to use the spirometer every hour.  The progress is slow but at the end of the day, it is still progress.  I also have started thinking about how I do not put myself in that situation again. 

 

Many options came to mind and I quickly narrowed it down to two options I wanted to explore, and my mind had returned to the damn raccoon.  After a bit of research I learned in Oregon you cannot trap a raccoon and then release him someplace else, at least not legally.  I was not ready to get sideways with “The Man” just yet.

 

That said, I am contemplating the impact here and my desired outcomes – my trash cans back beside the garage, unharassed by the Bearcoons.  My current thinking is shooting one maybe two of them, which is permissible under current Oregon law.  I was also thinking about hanging them by their necks out there by the trash cans.

 

I can only imagine their friends and family will come to the conclusion that they are not to mess with my trash cans,  They will no doubt realize that I mean business on them leaving those trash cans alone.  And to be clear, the law is a little vague on hanging animals after shooting so we may be setting some precent in this. 

 

Of course, I am still exploring other options, but this one is currently and fully in the lead as a way to protect me from falling over and hurting myself again.   Getting old sucks and I now have much more appreciation of what I means when someone says they took a fall – that shit is serious! 

 

 

 

 

Smitty gets a gas grill, and gets all sentimental and emotional about his old grill.

Well, I certainly was not expecting to get emotional on my first use of a restored gas grill when I popped the first chunk of meat on it.  There were many choices for the first thing to cook, I even received from suggestions from friends on the Facebook.  I ended up deciding on a garlic and herb pork Tenderloin, which I just love anyway. 

Since this was the very first thing I had ever cooked on any gas grill I was a bit apprehensive.  I did not want to burn the first thing I tried, I also did not want to have it come out undercooked.  I have been cooking on a Weber kettle for so long I just know how much and where to put the charcoal to get the desired results for whatever I happen to be cooking. 

That no doubt came from years and years of cooking on a kettle with charcoal.  I have cooked all manner of things on that old kettle, burgers, dogs, steaks of all kinds, fish of all kinds, vegetables, pork tenderloins, pork loins, pork chops, bacon, veggie burgers, beer butt chicken, I mean pretty much everything.  

I remember very distinctly when I bought my first Weber Kettle, it was January of 1991.  It was actually the first grill of any kind I had purchased.  We had just moved Sandy from Baltimore to Jacksonville and I was being transferred from Norfolk to Bath Maine.  We pulled into Jax with a few items to last until the moving company brought our stuff.

I was able to stay about 7 days before I had to pack up and head to Norfolk and then onto Maine.  On the second to the last day Bride came home with an AMAZING looking rack of ribs and a disposable tin foil one use grill, supposedly to cook them on.  I kept saying no way and she ended up going out on the patio of our apartment and fired up the “grill”.

It did not take me long to wander out with a bucket of water to dump on that pitiful thing, she had not put the ribs on there yet.  I then proceeded to a Kmart that was only a few blocks away, where I found a Weber Kettle for 59 bucks. 

At the time we were young and poor as dirt and had like 100 bucks until my payday and she did not have a job yet.  Regardless, I bought that Weber and cooked those ribs and they were MAGNIFICENT!  We could ill afford that grill at that moment in time but the thought of those ribs on a tin foil grill, well I just could not do it, not for what she paid for the ribs in the first place.

That first kettle was with us for 17 years before one of the aluminum legs finally gave up on me.  It sat outside in the elements, pretty much ignored as far as maintenance and protection went for its whole life.  I remember writing Weber to articulate my disappointment in their product, lasting only 17 years.  My true hope was to convince them to provide me a coupon or a deeply discounted offer for a new one.

That is not what happened at all.  I got a nice letter back singing my praises for my love of their grill, I had spoken in my letter about what a loyal and faithful servant it had been to me over those years.  And then, in the last line of the letter they reminded me that the grill comes with a 15 year guarantee and that was it, no break on it replacement was to be had.

I was undeterred, I went out and bought another, identical to the first with the exception of improved air vents on the bottom.  Instead of three separate vents operated independently there was now one handle that controlled all three vents simultaneously, I feature I grew to appreciate.   

It was not long after buying this one when I switched over to a cast iron replacement cooking surface.  The wires ones that come stock would only last a year or two before needing replaced and initially I just wanted a longer wearing part.  Little did I realize how much better the cast iron would be to cook on.  more consistent heat, easier to clean and never wear out – I was happy.

Back to today, as I was turning on the gas for the new grill I started contemplating, I wondered how many pounds of charcoal had I purchased and used over the years in my Weber kettles?  How big would the pile of Kingsford briquets would that be?  I am a Kingsford dude exclusively for the charcoal.  How big would the pile of ashes be?  How much money had I spent on all that charcoal?  I determined the answer to all three of those questions was a shit ton and half.

Then I started thinking about all the things I had cooked over the years.  How many hamburgers, how many steaks, how many pieces of fish and how many beer butt chickens.  The only one I knew for sure was beer but chickens, it was 2.  How many slices of cheese for the burgers, how much relish for the dogs, and how much marinade for the steaks? 

I am sure I have ruined many things on those kettles over the years, although none come to mind immediately.  How many things did I over cook?  How many were undercooked?  And how many times did I empty the ash holder that hung precariously below the three vent holes?  SO MANY unanswered questions, in some ways I wished I had kept track, that’s the engineer in me, I think.  In other ways, I am glad I didn’t.

I then started thinking about how many of my friends and family have eaten things I cooked on those kettles.  I suspect over time pretty much everyone I know had something off one of both of those grills.  How many good times, how many great times, how many pool parties, how many family gatherings, how many intimate moments with friends.  Too many is the answer to that question.  I have been so blessed with so many great friends in my life and that is a fact.

After our first pork tenderloin Bride says it is probably time to get rid of the charcoal grill.  She says that right out of the blue and with no deference to the service that thing has provided us.  Get rid of it, I just can’t do it.  Maybe someday I will or could, but I don’t see that day any time in our near future.   it will be getting a good thorough cleaning and the cast iron oiled up really well this weekend and tucked away in the corner of the shed for the time being.

I am sure I will build the same relationship with this new to me grill.  It is a 2001 model of the Weber Genesis gold and after refurbishing it has done a fine job so far.  I have cooked one pork tenderloin, eight Hebrew National hot dogs and about a pound and half of thick cut applewood bacon and it all came out fine.  I look forward to cooking for friends on this and building those memories with friends to cherish.   

Might throw some salmon on this weekend, anyone want to be the first guest who gets something I cooked on my new grill?

  

I am so fucking conflicted about Afghanistan right now.

 

So much loss of life is what is standing out for me today, in the longest war that the United States has ever been in.   Vietnam is very close in second place in duration, we spent 19 years and four months.  Compared to 19 years 10 months for Afghanistan.  Just as comparatives, the Revolutionary war where we fought for our very country lasted 8 years 5 months and we had very little by way of technology to fight that war.  WW2 was a scant 3 years, 8 months, WW1 was 1 year, 7 months. 

 

Russia spent 9 years and one month in Afghanistan starting in 1979.  They lost in the neighborhood of 15,000 troops with 35,000 injured.   35,000 Russians officially injured, wow.  Since we arrived in Afghanistan, nearly a quarter of a million people, including everyone on all sides, have died.   Somewhere north of 70,000 of them were civilians.  2448 American military (as of April 2021) and another 3846 American contractors.  Over 1,000 NATO and allied forces, over 400 aid workers, and 72 journalists

 

We sent over 775,000 American service men and women into that country over the time we were there.   I have read stories of fathers and sons both serving there, sometimes at the same time.  I ask you to ponder that for a moment and let it sink in.   384,000 of them did at least one tour, 222,000 did two tours and nearly 100,000 did three.  40,000 did four tours, 16,000 did five and over 1,000 did more than 5.  More than 5 tours, these Brothers and Sisters deserve even more credit.  I mean even the freaking coast guard was there for fucks sake!

 

The numbers we claim were injured are closer 21,000 but I would argue strenuously that number is 100% complete bullshit.   War is hell as we have heard and EVERY SINGLE service member who spent time there was impacted (injured) in one way or another whether the wounds were visible or not. My heart of with you hero’s who struggle every day and I pray to the universe that you don’t wind up being one of the 22 every day who decide, for whatever horrific reasons, to take their own life.

 

Think about the rippling effects of that number, 775,000 service men and women.  A big ole bunch of them had two parents, probably some siblings.  A big ole bunch had spouses and children, there were many, many  friends and loved ones.  If every service member had just 5 people who cared about them that is 3,875,000 who were impacted, in one way or another, by the down stream effects of the war there.  Then think about all the folks who took care and are taking care of our veterans, hundreds of thousands more folks impacted.  I simply cannot imagine any American does not know someone who was there or who was impacted by the down stream effects.

 

Then we get to the money, because that is always in the mix in one way or another.  The US has spent a big ole bunch of money.  The defense department is north of $820,000,000,0000 and reconstruction projects by other government agencies have spent north of $131,000,000,000.  Germany and the UK have sunk nearly $50 billion and NATO spent about $72 million worth of supplies and equipment.  All dumped into a country roughly the size of Texas.  Afghanistan is 252,071 square miles and Texas is 268, 956 square miles. 

 

I cannot help but wonder why.  Why did so many have to die?  Why did so many have to be injured, visible or not?  Why did so much money need to be spent?  Why all the suffering?   This makes me sad, sad for the world as no one I suspect was left unscathed in one way or another by this war.

 

While I am overjoyed that our direct involvement is over and super saddened by what this means for the loved ones of those who lost their lives.  What does it mean for those families who are living with the injured service members, some severely injured.  I am saddened by the thought of all my Brothers and Sisters who lost best friends, who lost good people they loved and respected both up and down the chain of command.  I just cannot imagine the confusion and pain that they must be left with, what was it all for? 

 

I am also super saddened and afraid about the progress made for women in Afghanistan, that has come to an end and the burqas will be right back.  Not sure if the personal freedoms of women there is the saddest thing but it has to be near the top of the list.  Imagine gaining that level of freedom and then have it yanked away.  Who do ya think they will blame, the Taliban?  The United States?  ANYONE else who brought them a false hope of a future that is simply not to be.  And we wonder why so many in the middle east hate the United States, how many times would it take you getting the rug pulled out before you rose up in rebellion?  It just fucking saddens me!

 

How did fighting there strengthen our place in the world?  How were we protecting our freedoms here at home?   How have we made the world a better place due to our leadership?  I don’t have those answers, I don’t think those answers exist truth be told – at least not to normal folks.   Now for those who profited from it, that is a different story.  Those whose purpose to build war fighting things, planes, tanks, bombs, guns and all the rest – now they probably don’t have any issues, other than the cash cow teat just dried up – hopefully.

  

They are the likes of Lockheed Martin, Raytheon Technologies, General Dynamics, Boeing, Northrup Grumman round out the top 5 with a total of 158,000,000,000 in contracts with the defense department.  Be wary in the coming months and years for a new enemy to miraculously appear that will require the services of these companies.  You can predict it but watching the stocks of these companies, they will hit a point and their lobbyists will go to work with a campaign that will be even easier to perpetrate now we have the insidiousness of social media – WATCH OUT FOR IT!

 

So what are lessons, what are the takeaways from all of this.  Well we have all heard that if you don’t understand history you are bound to repeat it.  There are a lot of debates about the attribution of that phrase.  The Irish statesman Edmund Burke is often misquoted as having said, “Those who don’t know history are destined to repeat it.” Spanish philosopher George Santayana is credited with the aphorism, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it,” while British statesman Winston Churchill wrote, “Those that fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

 

Regardless who said it first or best what will our lesson be here?   We OBVIOUSLY did not learn a fucking thing from the second longest war, Vietnam.  What will stop us from a three peat of the absolute misery that is war?   So many pictures coming out of Afghanistan that I have seen before as Saigon fell.  Another time we quit because of whatever reasons, what the fuck.  Another instance of what in the fuck were we doing there in the first place.  One does not have a shitty exit from a shitty situation if one does not play in the shitty game in the first place.   

I don't know how many of you recall a man named Charlie Wilson, you should read the book Charlie Wilsons War - get one printed before they made the movie.  The Taliban is really nothing more than the Mujahideen that we HEAVILY supported and funded in Afghanistan during time Russia was fighting in the country.  Reagan not wanting to cede any ground to the evil empire as he called the Soviet Union.  They are an enemy of our our own making and the United States bears a great deal of responsibility for their existence and actions over time, including what is going on now.  

      

I wonder if we will ever learn that Democracy can NEVER work as a top down approach.  Democracy can ONLY work when it comes from a ground swell of the people.  There are more than enough examples of that to prove it.  I wonder where the lines are about leading in the world with American values starts and where it stops.  We cannot be the police for the world, that much is clear.  I wonder if we ever learn that regardless of what we might think about how a country governs itself, it is their’s to govern – period. 

 

I mean the very tenants of our country talk about freedom – that means the right to choose and do as we want.  Shouldn’t that hold true for others in other countries?   Where is the line, when do we go in to make a difference and where is the line where we walk away and not get involved?   As a Proud American and Veteran I struggle with this one.   If the majority of Afghanistan people support the Taliban and their rule than who are we to interfere?  I think the speed at which they took their country back is evidence that most want that in their country. 

 

But the suffering and oppression, especially of women, how do we reconcile that?  I have no idea!  One thing I know is that we cannot go back and change our involvement in the war in Afghanistan so maybe it is more of a theoretical argument left to the scholars to sort out in the decades ahead.  There will be no lack of opinions on that I am sure.  The lessons learned are for preparing you for what is next and what we do next time something like Afghanistan pops up. 

 

I am praying to universe that it does not happen but I suspect it will, even in my lifetime.  I mean why wouldn’t I?  The United Stated has been at war with someone for 222 of our 239 years of existence.  I am by no means an isolationist but I really do feel we the people ought to be a HELL OF A LOT MORE VOCAL when our elected officials want to engage in these sort of my dick is bigger than your dick arguments turned into a shit load of war which has really only benefited those building the war fighting staff.

 

I am saddened and confused.  My heart goes out to all of my Brothers and Sisters who served there.  My heart goes out to all of my Brothers and Sisters who died there.  My heart goes out to all of my Brothers and Sisters who came back broken or injured, seen and unseen.  My heart goes out to all the families of those brave military members.  My heart goes out to all the friends of those brave military members. 

 

We should EXPECT better and we ABSOLUTELY deserve better and should DEMAND better from our elected officials!  We need to get them out of the pockets of those in the military industrial complex that Dwight Eisenhower warned us about way back in the 50’s.   I am sickened and saddened by it all, they loss of life, the waste of money, the inability to learn from our past, all it!

Ya know I’m sure President Biden will take a shellacking for pulling our troops out.  But if we remember back President Bush couldn’t get us out in his second term, which I recall he said he would.  President Obama couldn’t get it done either, in either term, even though he said he would.  president Trump said he would as well, and couldn’t get it done.  So before we cast a bunch of stones at the current dude I just remind us other said they would and we supported them for saying it.  At least this one had the courage to do it, and he will no doubt pays high cost for that decision.

  I feel like I have more words, but I am going to stop here. 

What in the heck is Neck Hugging?

For those who know me I am sure you have heard me say I wanna “hug your neck”.  I wanted to type for a second about what that means to me, especially since it has all been so loudly amplified by the COVID times restrictions on our lives.  It means WAY more to me than just the physical actual act of giving someone a neck hug, although that is an important component of it.

 Like y’all, we have not been a fan of the isolation that has accompanied COVID times – AT ALL.   We are not happy about all of the things that we had to mash the pause button on in an effort to ensure we were not contributing to spreading the virus. We both felt strongly that we have to do our part as good citizens who live in society, supporting the greater good of our country is how I think about it. 

 It does not mean we have enjoyed any part of it, we feel it is our obligation as an Americans to contribute to the solution rather than compound the problem, regardless the situation.  The Rona is no joke, it is not the flu, it is not a hoax, and there are literally centuries worth of data showing masks reduce risk of airborne virus’s – I fucking hate wearing em, unless I am sanding things in the wood shop, but it is silly to argue about their efficacy.

 Anyway, we have now recognized many of the things we simply took for granted that were very important components of our lives PC (pre-COVID).  For example, the simple act of going out to eat.  We love local places that have unique and fabulous dishes.  To spend time enjoying a meal prepared by a friend or loved one who puts their heart and soul into making it is an art form in my mind. 

 It is a blessing and I will even say a spiritual experience, I mean what truer form of love is there than creating something from ones heart that literally sustains us?  A fabulous meal is a blessing for many reasons, whether it be at someone’s home or in that small local restaurant where you know the cook. 

 Or simply enjoying live music, regardless the venue.  We have always enjoyed live concerts, mostly in the smaller more intimate settings rather than large music festivals.  Music is such a huge part of my life, I have it going all day at work, I have it on in the car and we mostly watch music videos on the boob tube, don’t google that by the way 😊. 

 For me, at its core, neck hugging is about sharing space with people I love and care about.  In the later parts of last year Bride and I started evaluating our risk profiles as it relates to the Rona.  We have many loved ones who have been in isolation as well, some alone and some with their families.  We made the decision to see if there was a safe way to connect with them in the flesh.

 That led us to allow a select few people we love into our home, friends new and old.  The simply act of enjoying a meal together, the small talk that happens around a dinner table or outside at a restaurant on the couch with paper plates eating wings is one of my favorite things and is included in my definition of neck hugging.

 To be able to sit around playing games, be that playing pool, playing Yahtzee, or Rummy or even a new game.  Over Christmas we learned a new game from a dear friend called five crowns, which is sort of rummy like but requires much more strategic thinking – we liked it.  Again, this is included in my definition of neck hugging.    

 Or just sitting around talking about meaningless things, making fun of things or providing color commentary on something or someone.  Having a cold or iced beverage and being silly with each other.  Making fun of my painted toes without ever asking why I paint them.  hahaa, the idle intimate chatter and banter is pure gold and also neck hugging.  

 The stories, old and new, that are shared, both good and bad and painful, all make up who we are.  The experiences and stories from our individual, shared, and collective journey’s through life can be so intimate and meaningful, especially when shared with ones we love.  They rest at the heart of exploring the human condition in my opinion.      

 The 4 people we had in our home late last year, each brought with them love, for themselves, for us and for life.  It seems like such a silly thing to have taken for granted pre COVID.  And maybe I didn’t and maybe the absence of it for so long amplified the importance to me.  I want to thank Jen, Kathy, Joni and Kim for bringing with them the reminder about the importance of sharing space with those we love and pushing that back to the forefront for me, isolation has warped all our brains.

 Sharing space with those we love, is simply the best part of life.  Being able to be our true selves, with all walls and facades removed.  With our flaws, the true weirdness, the foibles, the greatness and the love all exposed is my favorite part of this game called life and our journey through it.

 So, if you hear me use the term Id like to hug your neck or I need some neck hugging now you will understand that for me it means so much more than the physical act, although I LOVE that part as well.

A letter to the person who owns this desk next.

So, I  recently built a desk that will no doubt be my forever desk.  Then I thought, at some point, someone else will own the thing.  That got me to thinking about telling that person the story of how this desk came to be and why it is like it is.  I decided to write a letter to the person who will someday have this desk, here is that letter.

I see you decided to see what was in that compartment.  I made that compartment for no other reason than to hold this note, and occasionally hide cash from my Bride.

My name is Duane Smith and the idea for this desk got started after my first week of working at home during the COVID19 pandemic.  I am unsure when someone may read this but right now is an unprecedented time in History.  

I am the currently the Chief Technology Officer for OPB, Oregon Public Broadcasting, and on March 13, 2020 we shifted to about 200 of our staff to working remotely.  This preceding Governor Kate Brown’s stay at home order, which came out about a week later.  I was in the first test group for remote working.  I was thankful that we had recently paid to have broadband internet brought up to our home.  Before we had half of a DSL, 2.8mbs was a fast speed day for me and after, we had 1gig speeds, worth every penny of the $2,800 it cost to have them trench it up to our house. 

After the first week of working from home I realized that the desk I had in my home office was WHOLLY inadequate for me to actually work from home.  It was a 40-year-old Piece Of Shit that I bought from Goodwill probably 20 years ago.  It is tiny and has very little space for my legs to fit under.  I have a sit stand desk at work has a larger work surface and provides way more space underneath.  I also learned that the chair I had was also a POS, so I went to the office at 7140 sw Macadam in Portland and grabbed my office chair.

That is when I started thinking about a new desk.  I started looking around and did not see anything that I really liked that I could afford.  I started thinking about a sit stand desk.  Again, did not really find anything I liked.  Then it dawned on me, I could build my own desk, but what kind.  My mind for some reason immediately went to a big live edge slab sit stand desk.  Something that had a crotch in it.  I could almost see what it would look like from the moment the idea popped into my head.

But, I had never worked with a live edge, or a big slab of any kind.  I had never used epoxy and I suspected I would need to use that.  I have been impressed with some of the river tables and other projects I have seen where the use of colored epoxies was prominent.  I did not want that level of contrast because that whole thing feels a little like a fad to me.  I think those things are super cool looking, I just am not sure that will still be cool in 10-20 years.    

So, I started studying how to work with large slabs, specifically Walnut, which is what I first saw in my mind, not sure what but that’s what I saw.  I can only recall one project I have ever used Walnut and that was a pair of ashtrays that I ended up giving to my sister back in the late 70’s, not for smoking cigarettes. 

The first big challenge, where the hell would I buy a giant chunk of walnut.  I asked friends, searched on the hardware store bulletin board, Criagslist and Facebook Marketplace.  I found a guy named Eric who had a ton of giant slabs for really good prices.  All his slabs were green, within a year of felling.  Back to the research, how do ya dry these giant slabs out.  OK, all I have to find a place to kiln dry it for me, I live in the great PNW, I thought this won’t be a problem at all. 

I found a company that charged by the board foot, AJ Kiln Drying.  He indicated that a slab that big and 3 inches thick would need to be air dried for at least 3 years before it could go in the kiln, or it would warp and twist up to the point of ruining the slab.  Great, I did not want to wait three years.  I asked him if he knew of anyone who had slabs that were at least 3 years air dried. 

A. J. pointed me in the direction of the Maverick Sawmill and the owner, a man named Nick Mooers located in Hubbard Oregon.  I reached out to him and explained what I was looking for.  He told me that he had thousands of slabs and was 100% sure he had something that fit my requirements.  He said he would pull some out and line them up for me and I could come take a look.  A few days later I traveled to see and while I wished I could have bought them all, I selected this one. 

 It was 3 inches thick and did not look entirely flat.  I thought, no biggy, I could mill that down flat and then parallel it.  I asked him if they did that sort of work, to which he said yes we have a big CNC machine that makes short work of it.  I asked what that cost to have done, he told me that if we could agree on a price right then he would do it at no charge, we did, and he did.  I picked it up about 4 days later, milled smoothly down to about 2 inches thick.

Since I do not have my shop built and have my 58 Ford Ranchero and 63 Galaxie 500 convertible in my garage I had to commandeer my Wife’s garage.  I built a carpet covered fold up rack that allowed me to work on it and then fold it up with the slab and she could park her car in there.  Bride was not happy about losing her side of the garage for a bit.

The first week I spent sitting in a chair staring at the slab, waiting for it to tell me what it wanted to be.  I kept coming back to the broken edge, that was probably created when the tree was felled.  I first spent time trying to figure out how to cut it out or minimize it best I could.  I realized that I should not try to do that.  Primarily because the broken piece, while not what I wanted, was what it was.  

That got me to thinking, it has to stay.  This is not a dimensioned lumber project where I was striving to make everything as close to perfect as I could.  I decided I had to honor the slab for what it was, not what I wanted it to be.  I suppose that is true for all work on larger slabs.  That was a revelation that helped with the rest of the design and build.

So, I spent more time staring at it through that lens.  As I thought about it, I began to realize that I needed to highlight the damage and figure out a way to use that to tell a story. I know, I am such a nerd given to sentimentality.  I could have easily just whipped something together but for some reason I wanted to make this desk into something special.  Special because I had never built myself and desk and will most likely never build another for myself.

I cannot recall which day it was, but it dawned on me, maybe this can be a story about my own life.  Those areas from my youth that were broken, broken mostly because of my own dumbassedness.  Then I realized I could incorporate pieces from my past, emotional ties to those who helped provide the guidance, direction and structure that has led me to who I am today.  So that had to include a number of things, my parents, my Grandmother (Granny) and many of the influential folks along my life’s journey.

As a somewhat sentimental person, I have kept trinkets and items over the years from folks who were important to me.  I have items from my parents, who both passed in 2009 and from Granny.  I have items from friends and mentors spanning back over my most of my life that have meaning to me.  The thought dawned on me, what if I could somehow incorporate some of these mementos into this desk, as a reminder about how I got to where I am today. 

I thought, great, I have a direction!  I started thinking about each area that had sustained some sort of damage, some may call them flaws but at this point I stopped thinking about them in that context.  I started looking at each one as an opportunity to tell a piece of my story.  How could I bring my past into this thing in a way that told my story, I had no idea at this early stage but knew that which each spot, the answer would eventually present itself to me.

Time to start thinking about what kind of actual desk this slab would sit on.  I really like my sit/stand desk I had at work.  I started researching the mechanisms.  The old interwebs, as usual, gave me too many choices, ranging from absolute crap to some high dollar setups.  I knew I did not want a piece of crap and was nervous spending a ton of money on the more expensive ones without knowing for sure they were high quality units.

I read so many reviews that my head was spinning, everything in the world has good and bad reviews and sometimes it is hard to determine which are bullshit and which are not.

I started considering using a company that we had recently used at work for sit stand radio and TV studio furniture.  This made me nervous as I did not want any conflicts of interest, especially since my company recently spent over $200,000 with this company for studio furniture.  I spoke to our CFO and CEO and explained what I wanted to do and got their guidance on how to keep all that above board.

I reached out to Alan Martin of Martin and Zeigler, headquartered over in Canby Oregon.  I explained my concerns about conflicts of interest.  He laughed and said you’ve already paid me, why would I do you any favors the furniture I just sold ya will last 20 year or more.  We had a good laugh and went through my other concerns about conflicts.  He is my age and started that company when he was in his 20’s. 

I laid out what I was looking for and he gave me a neighborhood for the costs.  He would need the weight and exact size in order to give me a hard quote.  I weighed it, 146.5 pounds and took some craft paper and cut it out the exact size of the slab and sent it to him. 

He came back with a price, that showed ZERO favor based on our professional relationship, I agreed, and he started building the mechanism.  The systems we put in at work were top notch, smooth in operation and super quiet.  And just so you know, the sit stand mechanisms cost me more than the slab.  Ok, with that I had what I was building roughed out, it was time to get cracking.

The first work I did on the slab was to start working on the bark.  My research told me there are many ways to do that from grinders with specialized blades to pressure washing it off.   I did not like the idea of grinding, I wanted to preserve as much of the live edge as possible.  I also did not like the idea of firing up the pressure washer either, I have been opposed to using a pressure washer on any wood, even decks, let alone this slab of walnut. 

I decided I would take the slow route, scrapers, and putty knives along with hand sanding.  It took me over 15 hours to get the bark off and get the live edge roughed in to where I liked it.  I am glad I took the time, I am afraid that some details would have been lost using those more aggressive methods.  There would be much more sanding to come as I progress through the various grits, all the way to 800 – which I know is overkill but I wanted this desk to be as close to perfect as I could get it!

Next, I spend a lot of time sanding.  I started out using my 30-year-old Craftsman belt sander starting at 80 through 150 grit on the bottom.  Then I moved to my little Ryobi random orbital sander from 100 through 180.  That POS ragged out pretty quick, so I purchased a DeWalt variable speed orbital sander and continued the work.   I know I had more to do but that was close enough for me to start experimenting, with finishes, with the epoxy and with the Dutchman joints.

I researched epoxies, colorants and how to do that work.  I played a bit with the areas on the bottom with all things.  I tried what was called purple but came out as blue, you can see that on the bottom.  I also tried a brown that I really liked but, in the end, settled on the black for the top. Here are the tests I did of the purple

I trimmed the three end grains.  I trimmed as little as possible, just enough to get to a nice clean straight edge with all the chain saw marks removed.  This was the only sawing I did on the slab.  I also started experimenting with how I would finish this thing.  I really wanted to keep it as natural as possible.  I tried a few things, I really liked Watco’s dark walnut Danish oil for the looks. 

The only issue with Danish oil is that it requires maintenance and I am lazy and did not want to be reapplying Danish oil every year so, it required more experimentation.  I tried water and oil urethanes of various sheens.  I finally settled on Watco dark walnut Danish oil with a super thinned down satin oil urethane, commonly referred to as wiping poly.    

I cleaned up the cracks and established where I wanted to put those bow ties first, three made of wood in total.  Since I had never done one before I thought I would start on the bottom.  I was somewhat disappointed with my first attempt, I did not spend any time ensuring my chisels were sharpened and honed.  There were small gaps, most likely no one would ever even notice but I wasn’t happy with it.  I spent a few hours sharpening them up and practiced more on some scraps.  Each of those are about 5/8” thick.

Just a note on the joints themselves, the dutchman, the bowtie or as I prefer, the Nakashima joints, named after George Katsutoshi Nakashima.  He was American woodworker who was a renowned woodworker, he actually accepted the Order of the Sacred Treasure in 1983.  An honor bestowed by the Emperor of Japan and the Japanese government.  Anyway, he was the first to truly use a dutchman or bowtie in a way that elevated aesthetics over the simple function of a dutchman or bowtie joints.

There are two different woods, one mahogany and two from curly maple.   There are also two aluminum ones on the bottom.   Each has a story that makes it important to me. 

Each has significant meaning to me but the mahogany is especially dear to my heart.  Back in the 90’s my great friend Evelyn McNurlan and I were building a dinner room table and chairs out of mahogany.  It was a Saturday and we had wrapped up for the day and she went on home for the day, to  soak in the tub  She died of a heart attack in her tub, she was in her early 30’s.  I was thunderstruck! 

While she was not the first person I had lost in my life, she was the first really close friend, I was in my late 20’s.  Since we were working on this project in my shop when I lived in Jacksonville Florida, I just kept all the wood.  I never finished the table or even one of the chairs, I just could not bring myself to do it.  Over the years I had incorporated little pieces of that mahogany into furniture I built, for me and my wife, for friends and other folks. I never told anyone the meaning of the wood in their projects.  The largest of those was a nightstand for my wife.

The mahogany bowtie is from that wood I have kept around in the shop through all the moves and over nearly 30 years.  It is very special and is there to honor my friend Evelyn, her name is written on the bottom side, which will never be seen.

The maple pieces are from some bits I got from my great friend John Wesley, who passed in the early 2000’s from COPD.  He was a great guy and I miss him a lot.  We tried out the turkey frying craze way back in the day, me, John and one of my best friends Mark – it was Yummy.  He was quite a bit older than me, we met through our wives who met at Dog Club.  We had a great many adventure and he was a really interesting man. One of the things about John was that if he had one of something, he had three of them.  From tools, to firearms to you freaking name it, he had more than one of them.  I have held onto those little bits of Maple all this time and have built a few things out it, a pencil box for my wife is my favorite.   His name is written on the bottom of those as well, never to be seen.

The Aluminum ones in the bottom are from some bits I got when my neighbor Alva Robertson cleaned out his shed once.  He was a great neighbor for me back when I was a brand-new first-time homeowner at the time.  He was influential in that he led by example, and his example was a damn good one in every aspect I can think of measuring.  I got those bits of aluminum back in the 1990’s and was sure I would find a use for them someday.   He has passed as well.

The lid for secret compartment also has a very special meaning for me.  I got the remnants of a coffee table from a man named Don Brady, this piece was in the exact middle of that table.  I cut that down and thinned it out to work in this application.   I first met Don Brady when I was 11 years old while delivering newspapers.  We remained friends until he passed in 1992.  

Don Brady was a once in a lifetime friend, mentor and all around AWESOME human being.  He had a large impact on my life.  As  someone who lacked a father figure and I learned a great many life lessons from him.  My own father was pretty non existent in my life and my stepfather and my young self, we did not get along AT ALL, we did later in life but that change was very slow, over a decade.  Don’t get me wrong, I loved my Dad but he was just not there for us when we were kids.

I also used a couple of other bits and pieces inside the secret compartment.  One of those was this little bit of maple from one of my Brothers' from another Mother Phil. This picture was snapped on a work trip to Atlanta right before the COVID isolation began.

All those pieces are situated in a way to hold things together or hold things in general, that is by design.  When I think about those pieces, they represent people who have helped me along in my journey through life.  They each offered examples of how to operate in life that helped me become the person I am today.  I just love Evelyn, she was just a bubbly positive person in the face of a challenging life.

I wanted to also explain a couple of other components I incorporated into the build, around that broken edge.  As I mentioned my childhood was not without adversity and I would not change one bit of it.  I hear people wishing they could go back to their youth and change things, not me.  I am where 

I am in life because of that adversity, it helped form who I am.   

The little turquois and silver bird came off a lighter case.  Way back in the day, late 70’s, my late aunt Sue traveled to the southwest and purchased a few trinkets for folks.  She got one for my Dad and one for Granny.  It was basically glued to the side of metal tube that held a disposable Bic lighter. 

I would not even be able to venture a guess as to how many disposable lighters that were cycled through that case, Granny smoked a lot.   My Dad had both his and Granny’s and when he passed, I kept a few of his things, that was one of them.

Granny was the most influential person in my life.  Parthenia Geraldine Dempsey Baily Smith Watson, had the largest impact on my younger self than ANYONE else in my life to date.  After my folks divorced, I stayed with my Mom until she made me choose between her and him, a 22 rifle was at the heart of that.  I stayed with Dad and then Dad and Granny until I joined the Navy in 1983.  She was one who would tell ya exactly how she saw it, regardless when or where or who might be around. 

She once called my girlfriend, whom she did not approve of, a twiddle twat, right to her face.  Haahaha, that was a pretty embarrassing moment for me at age 16, she was right but to hear it out loud hurt a bit.   She also tolerated my dumbassedness and let me learn so many things the hard way, because she understood that was the way I learned.  She tolerated my underage drinking, my smoking pot and all the other dumb ass shit I put her through.  She could see me learning in real time with an awful lot of extremely painful lessons.  So many of those lessons are still in me, learning things about life that way makes them stick with ya and become who ya are in this world.

There has not been a day goes by that I don’t think about her, she was such an authentic soul, there was absolutely zero bullshit in her world, she had no tolerance for it.  She could tell when I was lying before I even opened my mouth and would say bullshit! Hahaha, it makes me laugh remembering her in those moments. 

I remember once coming home at like 11 or 12 at night stoned out of my head and I convinced her somehow to make me French toast, which hers was the best on the planet.  She also made the syrup, although I have no idea what she used or how she did it.   She not only made me French toast, she ended up making me a whole damn loaf of bread worth of French toast because I had the raging munchies.  So much of who I am today I can trace back to things I learned from her, either by her directly telling me so or by her allowing me to learn it the hard way or by her sometimes unorthodox examples.  She was my best friend and I loved her A LOT and miss her dearly. 

Also over there are a wooden token from my Dad’s favorite bar, before they closed it down.  As I looked through my mementos that I have from my Dad I thought that one summed him up better than all the others combined.  Don’t get me wrong I loved my Dad but if you were look up dysfunctional relationship it would have our picture there.  I have pondered it quite a bit over the years and have come to conclusion that what was broken about our relationship was related to his absence in my youth. 

Without that bond that is formed between a father and son when one is a kid it creates a distance that can never truly be bridged.  We never played catch, we never did things that would have us playing together.  Without that it became more about being friends, the only problem for me was that I would not normally be friends with someone like my Dad.  Weird I know and I wont go into it here but just know that wooden token that would have gotten him a free lunch sums up my Dad, it makes me cry to think that but it’s true.  This picture was taken in July of 2009, a few months before he passed and the last time I saw him in person.

Also in there is a Queen Elizabeth II silver jubilee crown coin to represent my Mom.  She was born in England and met my Dad in France when he was in the Army.  I thought of all the mementos I have from my Mom that one best sums her up.  I loved her a lot and miss her.  We also had a strained relationship most of the times, especially when I was a kid.  I was also her self admitted favorite, take that Siblings 😊.   Most of the challenges with my parents were due to my own damned dumbassedness.

My Mom was great to my Bride, always so thoughtful.  The two of them were sometimes thick as thieves and on more than one occasion I was super nervous about that.  I was glad that she found happiness later in life when she married her 3^rd husband.  I think he was the only one that she truly loved, the other two were vehicles to get out of shitty situations, although she never said that to me. This picture is from when she graduated with her Masters degree, she was within a year or two of the age I am now.

It makes me laugh even now that I look at the three of those items beside each other, preserved in epoxy for time and eternity.  I am not sure if it would even be possible to find three people who were further apart with who they were and how they traveled through life then these three.  I remember when I was living with my Dad and when my Mom called he would answer, not say a word and hang up.  He would then proceed to say “your Mother called”.  I remember when I went to boot camp for the Navy, both Dad and Granny both told me, in different words, not to bring home a foreign wife.    

While I wrote this as I went along I am wrapping up this note about a month or more after I finished the desk.  We are now looking at the end of the year before we consider going back into the office.  Nationally the cases and hospitalization number are spiking, with Florida leading with 15,300 new cases in one day over the weekend.  You will probably have the perspective of time by the time you read this but life in this country is CRAZY right now.

I do want to give a shout out to my Bride of 30 years in this Sandy.  She did not really give me any shit about building this desk.  She is the most tolerant woman in the world to put up with all my idiosyncratic behaviors.  She really did like how it came out and has asked about maybe making a coffee table for our living room like this, smaller obviously.  I will at some point I am sure it.  Love ya Honey!

So, there is the story.  I wonder what you must be thinking about this note, I also wonder what year it is and how you might have come to have this desk or be reading this note. I tried to capture the moment in time and the meaning of all the things on this desk for you the best I could.  I hope you can appreciate this desk and the effort and love that went into making it.

I was not super great at taking photos of every single step or capturing video of the processes. I find doing it to be a distraction from the work and the zone I get in when I am engaged in any of hobbies.  here are some pictures I did take along the way because some of my friends kept asking me how it was coming.

here are a few pictures of the finished desk

This is the monitor arm I made to hold two 27" monitors, all the wires are inside.

Here are a bunch of random ones I took along the way.

Bark removal

Testing of different sheens over danish oil

One of the bowtie holes I screwed and had to make a larger one

Pouring the black epoxy

This spot on the desk is actually what made me choose this slab.  It is a cross section of where a limb broke off at some point in the tree's life. 

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