A gift

Hi, it's the blog boy.   I don't think that people like me very much. 

I have felt that way for a very long time and even when people have seemed to think I was worth their time, I figured they would catch on to me soon enough.  How come I feel that way? I can't really tell you.  Well now someone, two, actually have done something so incredibly nice that I am at a loss.  See that wood over there?  It's my mandolin. It's not finished of course but it is more complete than it seems.  The top part, on the left, has been cut from a very nice piece of spruce.  It started out quite a bit thicker than it is right now, but in the process it has been carved with all manner of skill by just one man with a few sharp tools wielded with such incredible ability.  He could be called "Mr Chisel Hands" and here's why.  He is carving the top of the mandolin with such skill that it already has music in it.  Thats right, you can pick up that wood and strike it like a drum and a note will sound a woody baritone.  The top is done but it still has some ornamental scroll work to be finished and some holes will be cut to let the sound out of the mixing box.  Now that box is to be made, as is the neck from that striped maple you can see.  The sides and back are cut and the neck will be shaped from the hefty club in front.  OK.  The skill of the construction cannot be minimized. Mr. Chisel Hands cannot make a mistake and he just won't because he is an artist and he knows when the time is right to work.  Now I said two people the other person is Ms. Sharp eyes and she searches out the very best of the wood and then in consultation with the builder she gets it, and all the other parts which are needed to make the instrument go.  Now back to the mandolin.  There is absolutely not a better collection of tone woods available; there are precious few people in the world who are able to give "life" to such a combination of  dormant organics.  My builder is one.  

Now, why me? I was never a great player and I've lost nearly all my skills to illness.  The single builder shop of Williamson Mandolins could easily make my order out of some very fine tone woods and it would be a lively instrument indeed.  But no. Ms. sharp eyes of impeccable taste and Mr. Chisel hands of supernatural skill are pouring the true gold into this instrument because, well because they are my friends and they are not the kind who forget the bond that forges these feelings.  There are few people like that these days.  I am fortunately blessed, and for once in my life, I have no doubt that someone really does hold me in regard.  Years ago an actress was so overcome by an award that she said "You really like me!"  People made fun of her naiveté.  Not me; I know exactly how she felt.