Eddie Carl

For the most part, I try to consciously appreciate and protect my five major senses. I wear ear protection when running the planer or shooting repetitively. I am an advocate of yellow safety glasses at all times. One need only to try and find my belt buckle to know that I keep my tongue on a strict exercise regimen. I am getting better about wearing gloves.

The nose is what has thrown me for a loop this week. Most people smell bacon frying and get hungry. While blatant and a little trite, that is what the Entorhinal Cortex does. I’ll call it Eddie Carl. Eddie Carl links memories with smells. Your nose alone is capable of ruining what may have been an otherwise pleasant airplane flight. But, it is Eddie Carl that lets you know your car is overheating. Or,Eddie Carl will pass by a vase and make you think you are in a funeral home.

Well, Eddie Carl and the rest of the brain talk, and they know what is what.

Earlier this week, I was going to have a late afternoon piece of fruit. So, I went back to the kitchen and grabbed a couple paper towels and a cup of water and washed my hands. I noticed the soap dispenser was different, but that was about it. I went back to my office and had my fruit. It was an orange, so I needed to wash my hands again. This time, I noticed that the soap dispenser had a bee on it.

Eddie Carl went to work. Before I knew it, I had lost interest in whatever it was I had been working on. I began looking at the Fine Woodworking archives. I ran across Thomas Jefferson’s lap desk. Instead of being totally intimidated by it, which is my usual response, I was invigorated by the thought of working on it. Intoxicated by the thought of this project, I drunk dialed Shep Miers for pointers and ordered a cheap copy of Declaration of Independence Desk: Relic of Revolution from abebooks.

On the way home from work, as I ran the back of my hand across my nose, it dawned on me. The new soap at work smelled just like Liberon paste wax. I was doomed the second I washed my hands in the kitchen. Once ole Eddie Carl made the connection, he started talking to other parts of my brain, and before I knew it, I was neck deep in planning to make a Thomas Jefferson lap desk.

I reckon the moral of the story is this - don't trust Eddie Carl.