ergophobia
Sometimes it seemed like grandad enjoyed visits from his grandsons mostly because he could get them to do lots of work. My brother Ross and I had the privilege of fertilizing, mowing and raking grandad's lawn, weeding his garden, washing his car, splitting and stacking his firewood and many other delightful tasks. Sometimes we would be assigned such a task and it would take us longer to complete the task than grandad thought it should and grandad might say something like, "It looks like you have a case of Plumbum Rectum. Do you know what that is?"
He would pause for a moment, but never long enough for us to answer, even though we knew the answer ever since the first time he made the observation and subsequent explanation. Then he would explain, "That's Latin for Lead Ass," and encourage us to pick up the pace.
Sometimes, instead of doing some assigned work too slowly, we would get distracted by something more amusing and not get around to beginning the work at all until grandad came outside to check our progress. Upon seeing us climbing the apple tree or swinging in the swing, he would ask us why we hadn't started raking the yard and say, "I think you suffer from ergophobia. Do you know what that is?"
Then the customary pause and, "That's fear of work," and we would have to begin working immediately, under supervision, to make sure we did not have a case of plumbum rectum.
Grandad's praise for a job well done was usually rather understated, so after mowing and raking the entire lawn, we might hear him say something like, "Good job. Looks nice."
Once our assignment was to split and stack a large pile of thick logs. We had a hatchet, an axe, a maul, some wedges and a sledge hammer. Ross got to do most of the splitting because he was older and stronger than I was. I resented that a little bit, because splitting the wood is more fun than bringing it over to the stump, then piling the split wood. I got to use the axe and hatchet to make kindling from some of the smaller logs, and I got to split a few of the larger logs, so he didn't get all the fun.
It often took all of our effort to split wood with the maul, and sometimes it would get stuck in the log and then we'd drive a wedge in, and that wedge would get stuck, and we'd have to drive the other wedge in to finally get the log split. So sometimes we would use the tools in a slightly inappropriate way, for example, driving the maul further into the log with the sledge hammer. One of the last large logs was particularly knotty, and the maul got stuck in it, so Ross was driving the maul further in with the sledge hammer and the handle of the maul was against part of the log. After a particularly hard blow from the sledge hammer, the maul's handle cracked, and it was still stuck in the log. Ross drove the wedges in next to the maul, and the log was still holding together. A final blow from the sledge hammer missed its mark and went over the edge of the log so instead of the head of the hammer hitting one of the wedges, the handle hit the log and broke.
We thought grandad would be pretty mad that we had broken two heavy tools while splitting wood. At least it had been Ross who had actually broken the handles (though I too had missed the wedges a few times) so it wouldn't be me getting in trouble.
Ross split a few more small logs with the axe, and we stacked the rest of the wood that was split or small enough not to need splitting. When grandad came out, he seemed quite pleased at the progress we had made, leaving only a few large logs unsplit. Maybe he had expected us to come down with a case of ergophobia, but by then perhaps we were developing an immunity to that particular affliction.
When we showed grandad the big knotty log with the broken maul and two wedges buried in it, and the broken sledge hammer next to it, I thought his appreciation might diminish somewhat.
I think I said something about how Ross had missed the wedge and broken the sledge hammer, hoping to deflect blame from myself. Grandad chuckled and said, "I guess he's too heavy for light work."
What I thought might get us in trouble became a point of honor for Ross.
He would pause for a moment, but never long enough for us to answer, even though we knew the answer ever since the first time he made the observation and subsequent explanation. Then he would explain, "That's Latin for Lead Ass," and encourage us to pick up the pace.
Sometimes, instead of doing some assigned work too slowly, we would get distracted by something more amusing and not get around to beginning the work at all until grandad came outside to check our progress. Upon seeing us climbing the apple tree or swinging in the swing, he would ask us why we hadn't started raking the yard and say, "I think you suffer from ergophobia. Do you know what that is?"
Then the customary pause and, "That's fear of work," and we would have to begin working immediately, under supervision, to make sure we did not have a case of plumbum rectum.
Grandad's praise for a job well done was usually rather understated, so after mowing and raking the entire lawn, we might hear him say something like, "Good job. Looks nice."
Once our assignment was to split and stack a large pile of thick logs. We had a hatchet, an axe, a maul, some wedges and a sledge hammer. Ross got to do most of the splitting because he was older and stronger than I was. I resented that a little bit, because splitting the wood is more fun than bringing it over to the stump, then piling the split wood. I got to use the axe and hatchet to make kindling from some of the smaller logs, and I got to split a few of the larger logs, so he didn't get all the fun.
It often took all of our effort to split wood with the maul, and sometimes it would get stuck in the log and then we'd drive a wedge in, and that wedge would get stuck, and we'd have to drive the other wedge in to finally get the log split. So sometimes we would use the tools in a slightly inappropriate way, for example, driving the maul further into the log with the sledge hammer. One of the last large logs was particularly knotty, and the maul got stuck in it, so Ross was driving the maul further in with the sledge hammer and the handle of the maul was against part of the log. After a particularly hard blow from the sledge hammer, the maul's handle cracked, and it was still stuck in the log. Ross drove the wedges in next to the maul, and the log was still holding together. A final blow from the sledge hammer missed its mark and went over the edge of the log so instead of the head of the hammer hitting one of the wedges, the handle hit the log and broke.
We thought grandad would be pretty mad that we had broken two heavy tools while splitting wood. At least it had been Ross who had actually broken the handles (though I too had missed the wedges a few times) so it wouldn't be me getting in trouble.
Ross split a few more small logs with the axe, and we stacked the rest of the wood that was split or small enough not to need splitting. When grandad came out, he seemed quite pleased at the progress we had made, leaving only a few large logs unsplit. Maybe he had expected us to come down with a case of ergophobia, but by then perhaps we were developing an immunity to that particular affliction.
When we showed grandad the big knotty log with the broken maul and two wedges buried in it, and the broken sledge hammer next to it, I thought his appreciation might diminish somewhat.
I think I said something about how Ross had missed the wedge and broken the sledge hammer, hoping to deflect blame from myself. Grandad chuckled and said, "I guess he's too heavy for light work."
What I thought might get us in trouble became a point of honor for Ross.
posted by danteand at 10/12/2005 11:59:00 PM
1 Comments:
I do enjoy these Grandad/Cabin stories. I just wish I had more time to appreciate them, instead of having to catch up at the end of the week. Then maybe you would write more...
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