That's another reason I come here, I figure that other members are facing the same problems that I do.

However, I do not have the big heavy power tools or electronic diagnostic equipment many gearheads own. Most of my stuff is in the ranks of "better hand tools." Things like waterstones for honing tools and six-point deep-well sockets that don't mar fancy cosmetic fasteners. I've also used just about all of the premium waxes and metal polishing pastes on custom bikes and a go-fast Ford Mustang. (And I settled on BugSlide and Windex.)

But it was my Dad who was the custom woodworker. It's true that carpentry skips a generation. I've seen cabinet makers who do things with wood that defies belief. I just saw a home on TV where the entire inside was re-finished in recovered barn lumber, including a custom bed. Made me jealous that I cannot do that.

Its just like anything else, practice. the more you do the better you *(usually) get.
Some people have a better aptitude for it or should I say temperament, but If your lucky enough to enjoy what you do, its true, you'll never work a day in your life. The true masters enjoy what they do and the zen state that they create in.

With sharpening and polishing, that's true. However, I've come to the calm realization that I am a "resolute but reluctant gunfighter" in life. I am often good at things I hate.

Being a good credit manager was my 'adult job' skill-set. Too much pressure, the jobs of hundreds of people teetering on decisions I made, and clueless CEOs who thought my vocal cords were a genie's ATM. And for many years I wondered how people can excel at disgusting jobs. I never found an answer, I simply quit early.

My wife and I have a humorous saying we chant between ourselves on issues like this. We smirk and say, "See the chameleon, laying there in the sun." If you're familiar with the song, then you know that the next lyrics are, "All things to everyone," which of course is impossible.

For me, hard work never unlocked that riddle. For the purposes of this thread, I cannot give fellow members advice on woodworking, redheads, why drunken townies molest peaceful bikers or how politicians discern on how we can spend ourselves rich.

Knives I know. My doctor's wife, a native Japanese immigrant, does not know I am Caucasian. I surprise sushi chef's with better edges. Other than a Japanese history book and a wet rock, I have no formal credentials. I do sleep better and laugh more, however.