Michael

One of my favorite mindless little past times is to look at one of the chain-mail fora on Facebook. It's a nice little community in which people share photos, tips, inspirations, and questions. Great community, too. They're very encouraging, and the moderator is one of the best I've seen in a long time. If petty bickering, or trolling, rears its ugly little head, he's quick to put a stop to it.

Jokes? He often let's them go on. He's kind of cool that way.

On this forum, there is one person, in my own mind, that sticks out: Michael. He's a bit of a kook (and since I know that people from this forum are likely reading this, he's never gonna live that title down), exceedingly generous, and someone I'm very proud to call a good friend. (Hence, I refer to him as a kook.)

But one question I get asked a lot, for some reason, is how we met. After all, there aren't that many of us chain-mailers around, and while we see each other's work on the net, many of us have never met.

Well, I got to thinking about that question the other day, and realized that it was a pretty good story.

So.....

Once upon a time (unless you're from the middle east, then it's "Under the azure dome..."), I was asked to do a chain-mail workshop at a local store. Since teaching is one of my passions in life, and chain-mail is another, combining the two seemed like a good idea. The date was set. The notices went out. The people registered, and all seemed good in my little corner of the world.

And then the day arrived. (Cue the symphonic music.)

The sun crept ever higher in the sky; the clock ticked ominously on; the vultures were circling overhead. (Actually, they were. We have a lot of vultures around here.)

Momentary light-hearted aside - One day, a few summers past, I decided to take a break and head out to nature, as I am wont to do. I drove over to Beaver Lake, a great place for a quick dip in some nice water, or a pleasant walk in the woods, whichever you choose at the moment. On that particular day, I chose the water. And soon discovered that there were tons of little kids, all about 2 - 5 years old, swimming in the shallows of the lake. And overhead? Dozens of vultures circling. Hmmm. Methinks they knew something.

And now back to our regularly scheduled story.

My son was picked up from his bus. My wife had wended her way home. I was properly fed and watered, so it was time for me to embark upon my journey.

As it was early evening, I gave myself plenty of time to fight the rush hour traffic, which on the Island is more like the "rush quarter-hour", and I successfully passed it all heading in the other direction. I forgot that I was going downtown, and they weren't. In short, I got there way too early, and had some time to wander. A cup of tea was acquired, and I scouted out a cheese shop that I had never noticed. Mmmm. Cheese.

And then made my way back to the store.

When I walked in, the proprietor looked at me a bit strange and asked, "Do you know Michael?"

Well, I know a few Michaels. In fact, one of them was best man at my wedding. But this Michael? Couldn't say that I did.

She described him as "a bit of a social misfit, extremely nice, and a touch odd", to which I would only add "kook". I mean, I can now add all sorts of other descriptors, many of which are to be found on the Virtue's poster hanging on my door, and some of which I can't type in polite company.

But no, I didn't know him.

She said, "He dropped this off for you."

"This" was a jar of jump rings, and a note.

The note, which I still have somewhere in the depths of my studio / guest room, said something to the effect of how he really wanted to come to the workshop but had to catch a ferry home, and the rings were a gift for the students to use.

The rings just happened to be the exact same size which I had brought with me.

The workshop went well (in fact, one of the students came by my booth yesterday and wanted to know when he could learn some more weaves), and when I got home I told my wife all about this stranger who dropped off these rings. I am always touched by the overwhelming generosity of others.

I told her that there was one woman in the group who seemed to be having a particularly tough time of it lately, and had obviously scrimped and saved for the class, and so I gave her the jar. She was practically in tears as she headed on out. (The woman in the class, not my wife.)

And I made sure to call Michael the next day to thank him, over and over, for his exceedingly kind and unexpected gift.

This is just a single example of Michael's unfailing generosity.

Not many people know it, but he has also instituted a not-for-profit non-registered charity for supplying chain-mail artisans who are going through difficult times to get jump rings for free.

He also often posts that he's "on a boat" not because he loves sailing back and forth between his home of Mayne Island and Vancouver Island, but because he takes care of an elderly woman, and regularly drives her to doctor appointments here.

And on those rare occasions when he has some free time, he can be found at my booth in Bastion Square, just visiting.

Of course, with Michael, it's never just a visit.

One last story example before I begin my day: Michael was visiting me at my booth earlier this week, just after another friend who was hoping to meet him had left. Timing. It's all about timing, isn't it?

Anyways, he was visiting, sitting on the low rock wall next to my booth, when this small group from Austria came by. I stood up to talk with them, and he patiently waited until I was free. One of the ladies asked me some question about something or other, but evidently didn't quite get her translation from German correct, for I truly didn't understand what she was asking. She turned to one of her friends and repeated her question, I presume, in German, whereupon Michael responded. In German.

I think he said something like, "Die haare in meinem nase ist kribbeln. Und ich wie ringe. Sie beobachten möchte, hunde bridge spielen unter wasser?" Or something like that. I don't speak the language, and just sort of trusted him despite my surprise. (He never fails to surprise me.)

They then had this, to my ear, lengthy conversation in German, and he began singing a German folk song, to which they all laughed and joined in.

Yeah. If it comes down to it, and I had to think about him, I would simply recall him getting a group of Austrian's to sing German folk songs in my booth. That about sums him up.

I love this business. I get to meet all sorts of kooks.