Regarding dying with the most tools -
From a different field, but same principle, this memory. When I
moved from the interior of BC to the wet coast, an older mentor of
mine suggested I look up his even older former mentor, a man well on
in years, an expert in fine woodworking and antique restoration. In
the busy-ness of getting settled in a new place, setting up my new
shop and all it was not until several months later when, by a fluke,
I ran into the old guy. He had set up a temporary exhibit of his
work and methods in a shopping mall and was demonstrating the tricks
of his trade to the barely interested shoppers passing by. I walked
up and introduced myself as a student of his former student. He
brightened right up and said he was really pleased to meet me as he
was sure I’d appreciate a miraculous event that had happened to him
that very morning.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I’ve reached Nirvana,” was his answer. I pressed him for some
details. Nirvana is a state I hope to inhabit before I’m gone.
“How did you know when you got there? How did it happen?” I asked.
He said, “I went out to my shop this morning with a cup of coffee.
As I stood there, just looking around at things, a strange feeling
crept over me. I suddenly realized that for the very first time in
my entire life” (he was in his mid-nineties at the time) " I
couldn’t think of one single more tool that I needed."
It’s hard to know what to make of this rare occurrence. It’d be too
simple to make the connection between this miraculous event and the
fact that he left this life soon afterwards. I mean, at his age that
was not unexpected. Can we attribute his departure to the fact that
he finally had it all? Perhaps, with the eternal search for more
tools over and done with he’d lost the will to live? Who can say?
Meanwhile, in my mid-seventies now, my ardor for new acquisitions is
somewhat reduced. For practical reasons alone this is a good thing.
There’s hardly room for more. I don’t even use half of what I’ve
already got. But, just to be on the safe side, I won’t stop
Marty in Victoria - halfway from here to there.