Dan's gloves.
The White Cottage was about fifty-five miles from the London College of Furniture. To get into London via public transport, I had to walk two miles to Henham Halt railway station to catch a train to Liverpool Station and then take the Circle Line to Aldgate East underground station. It was not an arduous commute, but I began to feel restricted by the train schedule. Seeking independence, I did what every Red Blooded American does when freedom calls; I bought a motorcycle.
Well, not exactly a motorcycle, more of a motor scooter. To be specific, a Honda 90.
I had moved into the White Cottage just before Christmas in 1973, and I was utterly unequipped for winter exposure on a motorbike on the hour-and-a-half commute to and from the school. I had a nice coat, and I could keep the wind out when wrapped in a Charlie Brown scarf. The problem was my hands; they got exceedingly cold. I had spent every shilling on the motorbike and could only dream of buying some gloves, but I had some leather and a sewing awl. How hard could it be to make some? As it turns out, pretty tricky, but some mittens seemed within my reach.
After the motorbike was a fond memory, the right mitten became repurposed in the workshop as protection from blisters from thumb planes. The end of the mitten and thumb are now worn after years of scraping against maple and spruce. For nostalgia, I kept the mittens and found them in a drawer not long ago. They instantly reminded me of riding through a cold night in the English countryside to my 16th-century cottage, and as I rounded the curve in the lane and saw the lights in the cottage windows, I felt like a Lord coming home, master of all I surveyed.