Every few months, I begin reading a massive book that will take me weeks to complete. I began reading The Great Bridge, by David McCullough just after Christmas, and I finished it last night. It's the fascinating story of the building of the Brooklyn Bridge--at one time considered one of the eight great building wonders of the world.
I knew bits and pieces about the father and son Roebling team who eventually completed the bridge (fifteen years in the making), but there were so many obstacles, it is amazing that the bridge became a reality. This story is, indeed, one of the great wonders of the modern age.
Reading at the commitment of the Roeblings to the endeavor (and their many sufferings) I felt so insignificant, seeing as how I have not built anything of lasting value in my life (other than a complete collection of Andy Griffith Show reruns). Although, I did once build a bridge out of an erector set when I was ten years old, but it rusted out and eventually succumbed to the elements. That's what will happen to me, too. Rust. Burnout. And a final collapse.
I can only hope that when it finally happens, I'll be somewhere near a vacant hole.