Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Finishing a beginning

"Remember to never split an infinitive.
The passive voice should never be used.
Do not put statements in the negative form.
Verbs have to agree with their subjects.
Proofread carefully to see if you words out.
If you reread your work, you can find on rereading a great deal of repetition can be by rereading and editing.
A writer must not shift your point of view.
And don't start a sentence with a conjunction. (Remember, too, a preposition is a terrible word to end a sentence with.)
Don't overuse exclamation marks!!
Place pronouns as close as possible, especially in long sentences, as of 10 or more words, to their antecedents.
Writing carefully, dangling participles must be avoided.
If any word is improper at the end of a sentence, a linking verb is.
Take the bull by the hand and avoid mixing metaphors.
Avoid trendy locutions that sound flaky.
Everyone should be careful to use a singular pronoun with singular nouns in their writing.
Always pick on the correct idiom.
The adverb always follows the verb.
Last but not least, avoid cliches like the plague; seek viable alternatives."
--William Safire

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step
."
--Confucius
"How much wood would a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood?"
--Unknown

Okay, cliches aside, I finished splitting the wood. Let's not rehash why the felled trees were lying like beached whales in my backyard attracting bugs and blackberry vines. Suffice it to say, the 25-30 something odd rounds of conifer wood have been taunting me since last September when I had two trees "removed" from my backyard by the tree service from hell.

And as I've established in earlier posts, it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than to get rid of 18-inch rounds of conifer wood that has not been split. I even called Trashbusters and they were in quite the quandry as to how to haul it despite their claim that they "haul anything." They finally quoted me a figure very close to a thousand dollars to get rid of the wood. And that involved something akin to a convoy of Trashbuster truck working round the clock for days.

So, as you may recall, I decided to split the wood myself. And I left you hanging with the impression that, after leaving two wedges appropriately wedged in a particularily knotty section of the tree, I had left the wood splitting project unfinished as many of the projects I've started in my life have been left.

But, I am proud to say that is not the case. In the past couple of weeks I have diligently donned my mirror-lensed protective glasses and my leather workman's gloves and attacked the wood one round at time. And here is photographic proof that I accomplished what I set out to do: split the wood to a level that rational people in need of firewood will take it off my hands without a struggle.





Above you see my sledgehammer, my splitting maul and my remaining wedge. The other two wedges are still buried in this nasty piece of wood.


This is the last of the megarounds of wood. And buried in it, posed for action, is my other splitting maul with the unbreakable, fiberglass handle. See the log's smug look of defiance? Little does it know that its log days were numbered.



Above you see the climactic point that makes splitting wood so satisfying.




And then the final blow and the wedge splits the errant log. Where's your smug smile, now Mr. Tree Round!




Finally the log is cleft and fallen, waiting to be split yet again to a manageable size.




Ladies and gentlemen, I give you a wood pile of heroic proportions! It's accomplishments like these that separate us from the animals (that and opposible thumbs).

But I must admit, once the realization dawned on me that I had actually completed something and the euphoria of that accomplishment had surged through me, I was filled with a sense of emptiness and dread. I mean, now that I've finished a project, doesn't that mean the pressure will be on to finish other things I start?

This can't be good. It's like climbing Mount Everest and realizing you've raised the bar a bit to high in your life. It's little wonder Neil Armstrong walked on the moon and has spent the rest of his days shaking his head and muttering.

Oh well, it's done. No use crying over split wood. And tomorrow is another day to lower the bar.
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