Last time we were in town, I bought a mini oxy-propylene torch kit. It’s used for cutting and brazing. I think you can weld thin materials as well. I have no idea, really. I got it because it is one of those things out here that a real man should have in his workshop. John has one.

John’s is a real one. Man-sized. Big tanks. Scary flames. He whips it out, fires it up and dials in a perfect blue flame and then fabricates up a new part for his transistor radio or whatever. He never cuts or burns anything but what he is aiming at. He let me try it once and I seared the back of my left hand when lighting it and then, aiming it away from me while I examined the burn, almost set his woodpile on fire. I decided right then and there that neither John nor I could afford to have me learn this stuff on his equipment and in his workshop. If someone is going to die-by-BBQ, it should be me. Alone(maybe with the right sauce).

So, I bought one. It is little. Girl-sized, if you will. I figure to go out, fire it up and melt a few things that shouldn’t be close to an open flame, cut a few things that don’t need cutting and try to stick a few things that have no future together. In other words, ‘mess about’ while I try to get a handle on this thing.

I don’t have to be good. I just have to ‘feel’ as if I can do this. Then I can leave it alone and simply hope that I never have to reconfirm the feeling. Especially in front of anyone. In a way, it is about facing one’s insecurities. In a way, it is brave and pathetic all at the same time. In a way, it is a stupid waste of time and money. One thing is for sure: it’s a man-thing.

When I was young, I would play sports and keep at it until I was no longer picked last on a team. And that was good enough. I played chess and kept at it until I had, at the very least, memorized the names of all the pieces and how they were to move. I played and soundly defeated my young children just to hone my chess skills. I drove my car too fast (but not tooo fast). I kissed girls that were not keen on the experience. And, generally speaking, pushed my (in)abilities to the mildly uncomfortable stage in as many areas of human activity as I could. Getting good at something was not the goal. Being familiar with it was.

And, anyway, I was never really into hard training. Sweating and suffering suck. No pain, no gain is just stupid.

As a consequence of this somewhat superficial approach to learning and skill building, I can do a lot of things at a D or C- level. So, I call myself a trivial generalist with inadequate skills but with still enough to register really low on the scale.

Not even a Jack of all trades. Nowhere near a master of even one. I am like an idiot/savant with all the savant in the eclectic variety of where I am but an idiot.

Works for me.

But that is not the point. The key word for me is the word ‘all’. I need to get my fingers cut, burned, crushed and scarred in the pursuit of as many exercises as I can. In that way, I can always say, “Hey, I may not know how to use an Oxy-Propylene torch but at least I have one! I am pretty sure I know how to fire it up. Let’s get it out and start from there.”

Most people don’t even have one.

The effect of that very powerful statement of fact is somewhat diluted by my increasing reliance on Sally to tell me where these things are. Still, I have the tool and she knows where it is!

This sort of mini-macho thing plays better in the urban cul-de-sac than it does out here where the guys say, “I can help you with those logs on Thursday, if you want. The plane is bringing in the parts for my D-9 Cat and I’ll have the engine and transmission back together by Wednesday night. Gotta weld up a new blade and machine a couple of new bearings, too, but I could be at your house by noon, if you want? Just gotta load ‘er on the barge and I could be here for coffee. You gonna be up by then or would you prefer I come later?”

Pretty impressive stuff. I’m trying to keep up. The mini-oxy-propylene torch kit is just a start.

Until I feel good about it, anyway.