It has been six years in October since I have touched “Trade Tool” other than to put them away in my garage. All of my life I have considered myself a Craftsman and a Builder. But the disease has stolen that from me and it hurts more than most people could imagine. Having a piece of your self-identity ripped from you is a pain I would not wish on my enemies. As a life-long “Mason” and Journeyman Carpenter and Journeyman Tile-Setter, I have had to adapt my self-image until I rarely feel the pain of not being the person who could help any friend or family member with their “project". When Jessie asked me to help with ideas for a project her boyfriend was working on for his Mother. I was thrilled to help but figured, as always my participation would be very limited. However, on Saturday, I picked up a Trowel with my now soft hands and for a few hours, I was able to pretend I was the old “Me” again. It was of course only “Pretend” as I had people handing me blocks and anything that took any strength I had to ask for assistance on (this in itself is one of the hardest mental challenges I face every day, as I have never been a person who asked for assistance with anything). It is Sunday morning and my hand hurt, my back aches, and all of the usual pains are a little more magnified. Nevertheless, it is a beautiful pain. A pain that comes from a dream. A Dream that for just a minute I could build a “home”, or a “Fireplace”, or a “Pump House” for a Waterfall and Pond that a dutiful Son is making for his Mother. A Dream That I was Whole. .

I was perusing an antique store/furniture refinishing place the other day. Fairly dark and stuffed to the brim with stuff. I wandered into the back and was faintly surprised to see a man working. Very friendly guy. We played the name game for a while...Richmond is like that. The light was good and I asked if I could take his picture. He was reluctant. I don't usually meet with reluctance but I really liked his face...a bit grizzled...unshaven with white stubbly hairs that glinted in the light from the glass door. So I pushed it a bit. He told me that I wouldn't be able to capture him but I could try. You know. He was right. I snapped and snapped and snapped and never could get the essence of his energy. An animated talker, the frames on my camera all froze his face in odd expressions. He said he was used to that. Forty minutes later, I left with a couple of gifts (one old skate....I was thinking of Eve N. Less when he offered it to me...and a bag of coffee beans for my husband) and no portrait!