Back, waaaay back, when I was small, my father fell in love with model trains. Even his father, my grandfather, on weekends when we'd stay with him and my grandma-Iva, he'd load us into the Ford or Chrysler or something like a Buick and we'd sit by the tracks and wait for the trains to pass. I knew all the train cars. After awhile, we'd drive a mile or two to the (small) airport and wait for the planes to arrive. I didn't like the planes as much as the trains until recently, when I took a 13-hour trip on a train to a place I could visit in 6.5 hours by car.
Thing is, in a Ford or a Buick or a shiny red BMW for that matter, you can't drink 12-dollar wine like you can on a train. I guess, if you really wanted to, you could probably drink 12-dollar wine in a Ford or a Buick or a shiny red BMW on the down-low, like in a sippy cup or something. Obviously, that would be totally dangerous and stupid, but heck, at least if you were pulled over by a wine loving police officer, it wouldn't be half as bad as being caught with one of those Sutter Home White Zinfandel take-along screw-tops (not that there's anything wrong with it--the screw top, I mean).
I was just thinking about all the hobbies my dad had. He was a jazz drummer, which, for him, was more of a job yet a fun thing to do, too, but after that, he built airplanes (out of balsa wood, tissue paper, Dope, and paint and a store-bought motor and a plastic propeller. Just be around when he broke out the Dope, which they don't make anymore, at least I don't think so; it smelled good). Later, he painted tiny brass trains while wearing those big lighted magnifying goggles and even later than that, a corner of the garage became some tracks, and then some hills built of paper mache--tiny painted plastic people going about their business stuck here and there--and then later, the entire garage became a train-track oasis of brass engines expertly painted, buildings, acrylic and watercolor for background and vivid lighting . . . a quietly running train looping around on the tracks, not withstanding.
Just like the yarn and the knitting. First, we buy some needles. Then we buy some yarn. Then we buy some needles then some more yarn and more yarn and wow, what about the sock stuff? I I didn't know about how great sock knitting can be! More sock yarn? Yes, please, more sock yarn. And books? May I have at least forty?
Thing is, after awhile, the big-time hobbies fade, I think. Dad hasn't painted anything in 25 years. I wonder if he misses it. Last I heard, he sold the last of his brass trains on eBay and I'm sad. He's on a cruise to the Greek Islands for a month and I wonder if his hands are--or if they ever were--restless.
BTW: HWWV has become a real photographer. He has some assistant gigs and looks like he stole my cheapie camera. I complained that it wasn't working correctly, and from what I gather after loading up the latest series of photos, it's just user-error on my part. Maybe I could use a fancier camera. Oh, and see that bag there? I got another knitting bag from Scouts Swag. A Haiku bag. Lovely. (Like I need another kntting bag, but check it out, this one holds "sippy cups." Heh.)