Dale Thompson
12-17-2003, 8:41 PM
to all of you fine folks on Saw Mill Creek. I posted this on the Pond a couple of years ago and ever since then I have gotten some great help on projects just about this time of year. (If you have seen, "The Patriot", Mel Gibson and I are similar in the area of woodworking. He had a problem with those spindly English chairs. I have a problem with EVERYTHING! All of you have a "scrap box". I don't. My "Trophy Case" is labeled, "Well, at least you TRIED -- AGAIN). :o
Whoops -- gotta go -- something is out in my yard making the neighbor's dog bark.
MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY HOLIDAYS, HAPPY NEW YEAR and PEACE ON EARTH to all.
Dale T.
T’was a week before Christmas, and all through the shop,
Not a motor was spinning, no breakers would pop!
The scroll saw was silent, the lathe was not turning,
The bandsaw and PM for power were yearning.
I had tried for a LONG time to do it just right,
But the presents I made were a pitiful sight.
The tools were all GOOD ones and had done their best,
It was MY skill that failed in the ultimate test.
So, alas, when I searched way under the tree,
Not a present was there, the problem was ME.
There was NO time to try it all over again,
I’ll face up to fact and live with the pain.
I emptied the DC with tedious care,
In hopes that a useable chip would be there.
My scrapbox was bulging and right in the way,
There was wood for the heater for many a day.
My family and friends are usually quite good,
I had wanted to make them some presents from wood.
But the stuff that came out of my efforts was bad,
There was NOTHING done right. It was really quite sad.
Then out of the blue, on the roof was a clatter,
I donned my Jet jacket to check out the matter.
It was a funny round guy with a suit red and warm,
And with him were elves, with tool belts like Norm.
They entered my shop, and with no plans at all,
They started each tool and were having a ball.
The DC was choking with dust and with chips,
Every cut was precise, absolutely no slips.
Each clock that they made, was an object of art,
Their skill was apparent, on each little part.
The finish was added with a miracle brush,
Three coats in an hour, there was no need to rush.
The boxes for jewelry, they did with much care,
They knew that a lady would savor their ware.
Each tiny dovetail on each little drawer,
Was fitted by hands that had done it before.
The music that played when each ring drawer was out,
Was planned for the lady, of that have no doubt.
“Love Me Tender” for Jan, “Sound of Music” for Julie,
Their choices were perfect. Of that I speak truly.
The last one they made was for my daughter Stace,
There was no question here, “Amazing Grace”.
One finish was poly, the others were oiled,
They were rubbed out by hands that were not even soiled.
Even the reindeer got into the act,
Now this was a team, and that is a fact.
Each of the reindeer donated a hint,
Of antler for pens with a marble-like glint.
Enthused as I was, as I watched all that skill,
I wanted to help, but was told to, “SIT STILL!”
“We’ve got enough help, all the tools are in use”;
At least that was Santa’s transparent excuse.
With incredible swiftness and talent I saw,
The elves make my dreams look like ones that I draw.
In a matter of moments, Mr. Claus and his elves,
Had made many memories, to fill many shelves.
As the jolly old guy and his crew swept the floor,
He handed me books and instructions galore.
He didn’t exactly critique my intent,
But kindly suggested my Forrest was bent.
I noted a tear as they rose to the sky,
No doubt from some sawdust that caught in my eye.
And I heard the big guy, as he yelled to the rear,
“Merry Christmas, keep tryin’, but I’ll be back next year!”
“Well”, I said to myself as they sped to the Yule,
“Question Santa Claus? NEVER! You cynical fool!”
For those who may question this story the most,
I’ve got proof in the scanner, if my picture will post.
Whoops -- gotta go -- something is out in my yard making the neighbor's dog bark.
MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY HOLIDAYS, HAPPY NEW YEAR and PEACE ON EARTH to all.
Dale T.
T’was a week before Christmas, and all through the shop,
Not a motor was spinning, no breakers would pop!
The scroll saw was silent, the lathe was not turning,
The bandsaw and PM for power were yearning.
I had tried for a LONG time to do it just right,
But the presents I made were a pitiful sight.
The tools were all GOOD ones and had done their best,
It was MY skill that failed in the ultimate test.
So, alas, when I searched way under the tree,
Not a present was there, the problem was ME.
There was NO time to try it all over again,
I’ll face up to fact and live with the pain.
I emptied the DC with tedious care,
In hopes that a useable chip would be there.
My scrapbox was bulging and right in the way,
There was wood for the heater for many a day.
My family and friends are usually quite good,
I had wanted to make them some presents from wood.
But the stuff that came out of my efforts was bad,
There was NOTHING done right. It was really quite sad.
Then out of the blue, on the roof was a clatter,
I donned my Jet jacket to check out the matter.
It was a funny round guy with a suit red and warm,
And with him were elves, with tool belts like Norm.
They entered my shop, and with no plans at all,
They started each tool and were having a ball.
The DC was choking with dust and with chips,
Every cut was precise, absolutely no slips.
Each clock that they made, was an object of art,
Their skill was apparent, on each little part.
The finish was added with a miracle brush,
Three coats in an hour, there was no need to rush.
The boxes for jewelry, they did with much care,
They knew that a lady would savor their ware.
Each tiny dovetail on each little drawer,
Was fitted by hands that had done it before.
The music that played when each ring drawer was out,
Was planned for the lady, of that have no doubt.
“Love Me Tender” for Jan, “Sound of Music” for Julie,
Their choices were perfect. Of that I speak truly.
The last one they made was for my daughter Stace,
There was no question here, “Amazing Grace”.
One finish was poly, the others were oiled,
They were rubbed out by hands that were not even soiled.
Even the reindeer got into the act,
Now this was a team, and that is a fact.
Each of the reindeer donated a hint,
Of antler for pens with a marble-like glint.
Enthused as I was, as I watched all that skill,
I wanted to help, but was told to, “SIT STILL!”
“We’ve got enough help, all the tools are in use”;
At least that was Santa’s transparent excuse.
With incredible swiftness and talent I saw,
The elves make my dreams look like ones that I draw.
In a matter of moments, Mr. Claus and his elves,
Had made many memories, to fill many shelves.
As the jolly old guy and his crew swept the floor,
He handed me books and instructions galore.
He didn’t exactly critique my intent,
But kindly suggested my Forrest was bent.
I noted a tear as they rose to the sky,
No doubt from some sawdust that caught in my eye.
And I heard the big guy, as he yelled to the rear,
“Merry Christmas, keep tryin’, but I’ll be back next year!”
“Well”, I said to myself as they sped to the Yule,
“Question Santa Claus? NEVER! You cynical fool!”
For those who may question this story the most,
I’ve got proof in the scanner, if my picture will post.