In my circle of friends there is an unspoken rule, “don’t mention any potential project out loud, no matter how wild or impossible it might seem at the time, unless you really want me to do it.” At work, I’m normally a big idea guy. I think the big thoughts, see the big picture, plan the grand scheme, and someone else gets to fill in all the little details like, oh, making the impossible possible. I get to manage, direct, decide, and execute (in the executive sense), but I seldom get to do anything.

At home, I like to get my hands dirty and actually see a project through from fertile idea to splendid though often exhausting completion. I have a high success rate, which means I am constantly crossing things off my ‘honey do’ list, but my honey also continues to add things, as do I, which means the list never seems to end. This is how we end up with a sixteen foot long bridge over our creek sturdy enough to drive a truck full of stone over (or fight upon in armor), a forest fairy play set with towers that have individually cut and hand painted tar paper leaves, and a deck the shape of a redbud leaf with a stem of stairs leading to the water. We have a faux stained glass window hanging in our foyer that is eight feet in diameter and weighs several hundred pounds, an English parterre with raised beds in the backyard, and any number of projects ongoing in the basement and garage.

Many of them started with words from the forbidden list, “wouldn’t it be cool if…” or “what if you could…” or “I’ll bet you might be able to…” — you get the idea. We’ve built eight foot tall castle walls out of paper mache’ rocks (enough to decorate the walls of an entire union hall), built a cake in the shape of a castle that was fourteen inches tall and four feet on a side (and required us to remove the door frame to get it out of the house), and have plans for a portable tudor style home that could be transported in a semi-trailer.

At one point in my life, when I spent time working in a specific medium for a period of time before moving on to another, my friends were very wary of allowing me to be exposed to ideas. I saw a medieval pavilion (tent) in a book and decided to make one. Then I made twelve more. I saw a picture of a wooden bed and decided I could easily build one. Or six. I made my friends some medieval armor. Then I made several other sets. It was a wonderful time of life. Have an idea, make it reality. See something I liked, make one myself.

One day some friends came over while I was lying on the floor watching TV with my head against the front of the sofa. I vaguely heard the door open, heard a strangled scream of “NOOOOOOOO!” and suddenly found myself being dragged out into the back yard and hosed down with water like a dog that had made a mess on the rug. “NO. NO. NO. NOOOOOO!” They had come in to find me watching a history show about Welsh stonemasons hand carving blocks of stone to rebuild a medieval fortress. Give me a break. I didn’t even own a stone chisel at the time. And I lived much farther from a stone quarry than I do now. Not to mention the climate where I lived then was not as appropriate as it is now. You have to know your limitations. You also have to know how to be patient.

So for now, I’m finishing my basement, putting final touches on the gardens, perfecting the playset, and planning my next small projects. I’m listening intently to the project ideas of my friends, like the one who suggested that I was a bit obsessive for putting an address and stamp on the 1/4 inch long letter made of chewing gum that went into the mailbox next to the sidewalk in front of this year’s gingerbread house, but I’m also recalling all the projects I’ve been patient about over the years. There are some wonderful open areas in the woods behind our house. Who knows what I could build there. History Channel anyone?

This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 8th, 2008 at 7:41 pm and is filed under Habitat for Humility, Life, The Multiverse, Everything, The Current Middle Ages. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.