February 10: Mechanics, Car Troubles, "Web" Dip

Sometimes, I wish I'd become a garage mechanic.  I wish I'd taken shop classes in high school instead of chorus, piano, art, and writing.  When I was in middle school, I was forced to take a semester of industrial arts.  I drew blueprints, carved an ashtray out of a piece of pine, made a recipe card holder out of wood and a clothespin.

It was the most miserable couple months of my life.  My ashtray was lopsided.  I got a "C" on my blueprints.  My recipe holder lasted only a few months when I brought it home for my mother to use.  The only thing I learned of any value from my foray into power tools and belt sanders was that I was mechanically challenged.  One little slip, and I would be missing a digit.

My nostalgia for industrial arts today is fueled by some car troubles.  You may remember that my car's "Check Engine" light suddenly blazed into life last weekend.  My wife took my car to the dealership to have it checked out.  Well, I am $230 poorer, but my "Check Engine" light is dark once more.  Of course, we had to empty our savings account and then borrow some more money from a family member.  But my car is running fine.

This past year has taught me a lot.  When everything has seemed bleak and impossible, I've received unexpected blessings.  It has happened over and over.  Suddenly, the impossible becomes possible.  I don't think I'll ever be able to repay all the goodness that's been showered on me.  I have no valuable skill to offer in trade.  I'm not a mechanic or plumber or carpenter.  I kind of suck at painting.  I can work a plunger on a plugged toilet.  That's about it.

Despite my lack of practical talent, I am still loved and helped by friends and family.  That's a humbling gift.

My question this afternoon for Wilbur and Charlotte is this:

Would I have been happier as a car mechanic?

And their answer is:

...It is not easy to look radiant, but Wilbur threw himself into it with a will...

I don't think that passage means I would have been radiant as a car mechanic.  I think it's telling me that it wouldn't have been easy for me to repair automobiles.

Saint Marty will probably stick to poetry and the occasional lopsided ashtray.

That's about right