. . . and at the end of the day . . .
To some woodworkers building a bookcase can be about as stimulating as shopping for a Honda Civic. Either way you get a utilitarian object that performs as expected with a minimal amount of grief. Hopefully. You come to learn the value of your choices should your bookcase have sagging shelves, particle-board bones that swell up like Grandpa's knees, and a finish that fails upon any resistance.
Au contraire, our savvy customer procured a bookcase with quality hardwood components, properly cut and assembled, with many, many coats of hand-applied finish. Another happy ending. Cue the music. But not the credits.
For along the way there was one hurdle to overcome. It was needling the front of my mind, while materials, and fit and finish occupied the back. Namely, what the heck was I to put on this thing for taking pictures? Certainly, I had books and trinkets. Just line 'em up, grab the camera, and move on. But they were pictures. And people would see the books that I read. And people would think, "this is the tripe that is important to him!?!" (Sadly, yes, the ramblings of a Midwestern-raised youngest child.)
Turns out you probably can't see enough details in the pictures to read many of the titles. Still, some influencing tomes are there, from Pearl S. Buck to Bob Dylan. I have reading quirks, as do we all, I suppose. For me it began with the birth of two amazing, wonderful baby girls, back in the day. And from then forward I endeavored that half of what I read would be either authored by women, or feature centrally the lives of women. At the time I just wanted to gain a sliver of extra insight that may have helped those baby girls cope through the years. I continue to stick with it still. As they say, even a blind pig can find a truffle.
So, come by the shop some time and we can talk about a new bookcase for you. Something beautiful and sturdy for your treasures. If I am not there, I might be at the thrift store, thumbing through books.
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