Blog #89--Past Memories Aid Future Needs
When I was a child in the early 1950s, my family gave me a small toy sweeper, the kind with a rotating bristle to pick up lint off the floor as you pushed it forward. I don’t know why they gave it to me since I certainly wasn’t fond of cleaning the floor in lieu of play. One day the wooden handle broke, likely due to someone else’s carelessness since I didn’t play with it.
My grandfather, wanting me to experience the full benefit of the gift, decided to fix the handle. He did an excellent job; it seemed the wood was as sturdy as the day it was purchased. While I was too young to pay much attention to how things were made, for some reason I was fascinated by his workmanship. As I studied it, I realized he had drilled a small hole through each piece near the break, inserted a small insulated copper wire into one of the holes and then wrapped it around the wood to encompass the break fully. He then inserted the wire through the other hole and fitted it under the wrap so it wouldn’t come loose.
The toy went the way of most toys, unused and eventually discarded. I didn’t think about the sweeper or my grandfather’s repair job again until 2014, when I was checking out his workshop room in a barn that was literally falling apart since it hadn’t been in use since 1971. For some reason unknown to me at the time, I happened to notice a roll of turquoise-colored insulated wire on a shelf. Part of it was rusted from years of rain and snow, but I recognized the wire as the same one my grandfather had used on the sweeper.
I had been in that room a number of times to remove tools I might need someday, but I had never noticed the roll of wire before. A number of thieves and vandals had also checked out the room since no one was around to stop them, and yet the wire remained undisturbed. I thought it curious that I should both notice and recognize the wire after so many years, but I classified it as a coincidence and left it where I found it.
This spring (2015) I noticed a long, thin crack in one leg of an old 8’ wooden ladder that had belonged to my grandfather, one I had used many times after his passing. Concerned about safety, I didn’t wish to use it in that condition. Then I remembered that insulated copper wire and my grandfather’s method of repairing cracked wood.
It took a couple months before I made my way back to the barn, but the wire was still there. I brought it home and repaired the ladder in the same manner my grandfather had used on the sweeper. I have used the ladder successfully since, and it appears stable enough for a few more years of use.
Most people would describe this experience either as a coincidence or merely the result of a good memory. But what made me curious about the sweeper repair in the first place? It could have stayed broken, for all I cared at the time. Why did I want to discover my grandfather’s plan to repair it when I lacked a similar curiosity at the time for other things he repaired, or other tools he used?
More than that, what made me notice the spool of wire last year for the first time after so many previous trips to the barn? Could it have been because part of me knew I might need it in the near future? Again, it may seem like coincidence. But I have found numerous instances when I did things as an adult that I had practiced or otherwise experienced when I was young. I am convinced I was being guided to learn things as the years passed that I would need to utilize later in life.
These things happen to all of us, if we pay attention to them as they happen. Most often, there is a short span of time between something we learn and an opportunity to use it practically. For instance, as a veterinarian I often read about diseases or procedures shortly before encountering a need for that knowledge. As I stated in my book “It’s a Secret, So Pass It On: a Toolbox For Life,” I often found myself lifting weights or doing exercises shortly before needing to lift heavy objects or doing other strenuous work. It seems like part of me was preparing for something that would soon happen.
I also recall instances of longer duration where similar things have happened. As a kid, I once had a small Donald Duck suitcase that served as a primitive version of a diaper bag many adults use when taking infant children on trips. I didn’t use it for long, but I had a few doll clothes in it I could put onto a doll if I so desired. I don’t think I played with it more than a couple times, but history repeated itself. My first wife and I divorced when my son was 6 months old. Until he outgrew the need for diapers, I carried a diaper bag and used it with him, just like I had done briefly as a child.
But that was 30 years ago. Is it possible part of me knew, when I studied my grandfather’s handiwork with the sweeper, that I would be repairing a wooden ladder 60+ years into the future using the same technique and the same spool of wire? That undoubtedly seems far-fetched to most readers, but it is a possibility.
I was taught in veterinary school to rule in all possible scenarios when diagnosing health problems and then rule them out one by one as further knowledge is gained. I cannot prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was destined to repair the wooden ladder in 2015 based on knowledge gained 60 years previously. I realize few people wish to believe in destiny, but not wanting it to be true is not proof it isn’t true. If we are guided to prepare for tomorrow’s events, isn’t it also possible we are guided to prepare for events 60 years from now? If one is true, then both are true.
One way or the other, I have benefitted repeatedly by trusting in the flow of events in my life. And I am convinced we all have the same types of things happening in our lives. All we have to do is pay attention as they happen and then give proper credit where credit is due when things work out to our ultimate benefit. If it is destiny, we can be happy knowing that someone or something is pushing us where we need to be at the right time and place. We can trust it to continue helping us without us needing to control everything, a gambit that fails far more often than we wish to believe.
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