I have several knives, and I don’t count the ones in the kitchen. I have one that was my dad’s, one that was mine when I was younger, one that my son made for me and about 15 others that I have purchased or were given to me as gifts. Many of them have never had their edge touch a surface to be cut. The time will come for them, but it hasn’t yet.

I like my knives to be sharp. I only wish that I was as proficient at sharpening them as my dad was. He liked to relax by grinding pieces of metal, like old files, into knives (and one large piece of scrap steel became a machete). He would stand at the grinder in the garage, and later in a workshop he had built in our backyard, and convert square-edged pieces of metal into blades. It was just him, the grinder, the metal and a few cigarettes to help him decompress himself from the gnarly conditions of being a self-employed accountant.

The knives he bought and the knives he made were all very familiar with his gray whetstone (I have it tucked away safely). He would slowly, methodically move the blade over the stone until he was ready to test it. With a bit of liquid, usually spit, on his arm, he would see if the blade would shave a patch of hair off his arm. Invariably, there would be a bald patch that prompted dad’s smile of satisfaction.

In the past I have used dad’s whetstone. I put it away for posterity a few years ago. I have tried to replicate dad’s sharpening abilities using various tools over the years, including Arkansas stones, handheld sharpeners that use ceramic rods at cross angles, and a gizmo I purchased that uses a miniature sand belt to create and polish the edge. I did not like the results of the gizmo and, quite frankly, it was too fast. This past Christmas, my sons bought for me a really great sharpening tool that does a great job and I will use it regularly to keep my knives sharp. As one of my sons said, “It is foolproof, dad. Even you can use it.” Goodness, I love those boys.

There will always be a place for my set of Arkansas sharpening stones, too. I will take them out and slowly move the blades across them, not so much to create a sharp edge – the Christmas gift takes care of that – but for the relaxation that comes with sharpening and putting that last refinement to the edge,  the memories of dad that are rekindled, the zen instilled by the slow movements, and the satisfaction that comes with a blade that will shave hair off my arm – even if it is the gift that creates the edge and not my skills with the stones. It doesn’t matter.

I guess I like knives for their handiness, but I love them for the memories and the moments that they cut out of time, and that is plenty good for me.

This blog section is titled Philo, which is Greek for loving, as in love of: for example, philanthropy: love of people/humanity; philosophy: love of knowledge or wisdom. My writings for Philo examine “love of” many things — both subtle and sublime — that comprise life and living.

Check out my photographic project for the year, The Year of 70: Decades of Joy and Thanks.