When I was a child, my mother wanted a chopping block for our kitchen. I proudly took on the project at my school woodshop. Dad supplied the lumber and Mr. Woodson (how’s that for an appropo name?) taught me what to do. It looked just the way kitchen carts should look since I put it on wheels for mobility. I was forced to leave school a bit early to assist with a medical problem mom had which turned out to be the source of my interest in health news. As her condition worsened, she would look at the chopping block and turn to me and say, I was the joy of her life. Nothing could ever make me more proud.
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