Petite gratitudes

Books | Breaks | Quotes | Hand me downs

At the end of every year, Josiah (my steadfast compatriot in parenting and homemaking) and I sit down to write a letter to our future selves. That makes it sound about 55% more boring than it actually is—in fact, this letter is a dynamic, ever-shifting document, like the aurora borealis of letters, sometimes brilliant, sometimes dull, with different sections that attempt to encapsulate one annum.

We’ve got Goals and Hopes for the Coming Year, a section you’d expect to see in a document like this. We’ve got Superlatives, which is our lists of favorite and least favorite books, movies, experiences, etc. And we’ve got my favorite section: Gratitudes, Platitudes, and Saditudes. (Actually, “saditudes” is a new category and will probably get replaced by something else we can end in the suffix “tude.”) Gratitudes and Platitudes are a constant feature capturing the bits we’re grateful for and the turns of phrase that we resonated most with us during the past year.

Some Platitude examples (i.e., stupid phrases we say All. The. Time. in our house):

— “Eight is a lot of legs, David.”

Note: that quote is from an earlier scene in the movie, but I wanted to show off the octopus costume.

— “We’re not talking about you, we’re talking about me.” (A quote from our youngest child when she was about four self-assuredly letting her older brother know his place in the family video we were making.)

— “Clever girl.”

From the beloved classic, Jurassic Park.

And so many more! (Josiah—who has a mind built for holding onto useless information—reminded me of all the different sayings we repeat when I couldn’t remember what else we quoted. I only seem to remember them in context. It’s much harder for me to list them. So I suppose our annual list of platitudes is like a little memory vault that will aid future Taliesin in re-walking current Taliesin’s steps.)

What does this have to do with woodworking? The connection is faint, but let me attempt to make it.

These last few weeks as I’ve been in the shop, I’ve been reflecting on all these little things that I’m grateful for, some of which are woodworking related, some that aren’t. I’ve noticed that people often spend a lot of effort on the big gratitudes, the effusive thank you to people who’ve gone above and beyond. Or the normal appreciations, the ones expected because of your station or an event you’re attending.

(I remember sitting at a fancy dinner with a college board of trustees—I was a guest, no one in their right mind thinks I’m board of trustees material—and those delightfully self-absorbed rich people were wild about thanking themselves and each other. Money, I’ve learned, gives people funny ideas about their worth and value to others.)

However, these are situations in which we are accustomed to feeling or expressing thanks. The gratitudes I’ve been experiencing in my shop are not like this. They are these tiny waves of realization that something is good in the moment and I should recognize it.

And that’s what I wanted to share with you. Thinking of doing so reminded me the end of year letter Josiah and I write. Why wait until the end of the year?

I’m grateful that my dog needs a walk every day. Without it, I’d work entirely too hard for too long, much more than a gently lazy person like myself should ever work. Without my dog, I’d probably forget that taking a break is necessary to producing good work.

I’m grateful that this book on the art of grace helped my silver inlay stay in place in the block of walnut underneath while the glue set. I couldn’t help thinking that in this moment I was moving well through life.

I’m grateful to John McWhorter for writing a book on the history swear words, which makes my salty language much more erudite and sincere.

“In societies where language was mainly oral and few were literate, the swear was equivalent to the signature, and thus to do it without sincerity threatened the foundations of society. Swearing insincerely to God was especially egregious. To swear to God for trivial reasons, or worse, disingenuously, was regarded as morally repellent at best, sinful at worst. Here emerged the condemnation of taking the Lord’s name ‘in vain.’ Other transgressions were calling upon God to damn someone, or taking a person role in the direction of someone to reside in hell, when that assignment is God’s decision to make.”

I’m grateful for running water. There was a period of time when all I had to bathe myself with was a two-liter Coke bottle filled with water. This was a long time ago, but I’ve never lost my appreciation for plumbing and my access to it.

I’m grateful for hand me downs, like this old newel post and railing that my dad just happened to have lying around, which is going to be repurposed in our new house to keep Josiah from falling down the stairs. Long live Josiah!

I hope you find many little gems to be grateful for in the next two weeks! ❤️