[Bordermarch] The Chair

[Lathrop, Dave]

Greetings,

Unfortunately, HE Elisabeth snuck into my shop the other day just as I was testing the draw weight of my new long bow. To test the draw weight one must string the bow, place it a holding device, and pull down on the string with both hands, all the while observing the weight scale the holding device is supported on. It is a dangerous procedure because the bow can break and send shards of wood flying into your eyeballs.  Or the string might break while one is pulling downward with a mighty force, and one could end up face first on the floor. HE Elisabeth observed none of the above mentioned scenarios. She did see me gasp and stumble when the bow slipped out of the holding device. Anyone else would have hurt themselves, but I have had much good fortune with quick recoveries from near death experiences. It all happened in the span of milliseconds. I observed no concern for my well being from HE Elisabeth. She simply threw her hand to her mouth and walked out of the shop; laughing!
I gathered up the bow and placed it on the bench along with my tillering tools; I had been shamed and I was done with my bow for the day.
To forestall uninvited visitors to the upper reaches of my shop I have strategically placed some billets of Osage and mesquite on the stairs that lead to my retreat. Since I was feeling a little bit defeated by my bow, I proceeded to craw over the billets to gain access to my leather easy chair I have hidden in top floor of the shop. The chair was rescued from one of HE Elisabeth's moments of purging everything we own. She was going to throw it out, but I said NaBo NaBo. I not only rescued the chair, but I also have in my possession the matching leather couch! The couch is still safely tuck away in the last storage building I have rented; thank you Baby Jesus that she doesn't have a key. I fell back in the chair and threw my head back to wallow in my misery. As I was wallowing I couldn't help but notice all the fine boards of exotic wood that were stashed in the rafters of the shop. My God! There was more of it stacked on the floor! My misery was abating. I looked to my left and spied the upper leg bone of a giraffe nestled in the rafters. I wondered who owned such a fine specimen of leg bone; Glory Be! I own that leg bone!  The rafters contained more bones and antlers, hides of leather, reams of oilskin for my bellows, rattan staffs and silo flex. Within reach of my leather chair is my 1961 Gibson SG, it waits patiently for my caress and creative genius to bring forth music. My misery was being replaced by wonderment and unbounded joy when I once again realized how much cool junk I had.
The leather chair is where I do my best scheming. I can conjure up plans for future projects and bring them to full bloom before I even leave the chair. I can sit in my man-cave chair while the rain splashes off the tin roof;  I'll fall slap-dab asleep in less than a minute. I occasionally pull the giraffe bone down and study it. I convince myself that it's not dried out enough yet so I say goodbye and place it once again into the rafters. I can reach down whilst in the chair and grab any number of books with project plans, or the histories of mankind.  The antique drafting table is set in a corner, anticipating me to leap once again from the chair with another brainstorm. I can set my cool glass of tea on an old oscilloscope I use as an end table. Recently, while relaxing in my chair, I spied an old gym bag tucked into one of the corners of my retreat. When I opened it I found some old forgotten blacksmith knifes I had made years ago. The bag also contained some cow horns and other cool trinkets. It was like opening a long lost Christmas present.
I realize I am indeed a most fortunate fellow to have a good lady who allows me my scheming and dreaming, and one who let me keep that old leather chair.

HE Santiago