Power Tool Therapy Sweeping the Nation
In Erin's recent blog she refers to a previously debilitating fear of power tools that she is currently transforming. It is ironic that we seem to be cleaning out some of the same metphorical closets and naming some of the same suspects in the crimes against Self.
For myself I even went so far as to revere hand tools from prehistoric times, like the fondly remembered hand drill from grade school woodworking. It symbolized an empowerment then that I couldn't maintain at the helm of the loud and dangerous newcomers, which I held in paralyzing contempt. It was okay by me to have someone who could do it better. But that's were the whining in me began, when there wasn't someone there to do it for me.
Today I was doing some repair work on an old treadle potter's wheel.
There was no way to do this without the power saw and the drill. The drill didn't worry me, even though once long ago I got my hair caught in one and ended up with an oversized ornament on my head. But the saw...King always very kindly warned us girls "get ready for noise" -that was something else. Knowing I HAD to do these repairs, I timed it just right and tried out the saw just before Jame and Scott came yesterday just in case...and to my surprise even though I was cutting an awkward piece of warped plywood perched at a half-assed angle on top of a wood pile (my specialty -impulsive research),I really didn't hear the saw as loud at all. It was wierd, there was no shallow breathing, no weak knees, no shakey hands (thank goodness), so I cut it again -same thing, just a piece of wood getting smaller and I was in charge, and the sound just a buzz muffled by my own power.
The inner whining about having to do the project myself went on for most of the day today as I went about the renovations. I did all the things I would have rolled my eyes at King for: there was a trip to the hardware store for a bolt, a chuck key, and a drill bit; there were numerous trips to the house to find things; and the biggest of all -it took all day. The whining was really about the fact that if only I had some man here to do this for me it would take about a half an hour. Believe me I mentally panned the neighborhood and imagined myself approaching some unsuspecting retired fellow digging around in his garage. Luckily that held less appeal than toughing it out. The beauty of the whole exercise was that there was no man to do it for me and waiting until one happened along was not an option. What is going on in the universe these days? I feel like my life of thistley lessons has been put into hyperdrive. Is this a test? I can't help hoping there will be a prize.
The piece de resistance was that when I thought I was finished, the wheel didn't work and the real task still lay before me. I was forced to sit down and ponder. The first part had been easy as there were rotten pieces that needed to be refashioned and replaced but now there was the mystery of why the wheel wobbled. I'm not even going to tell you some of the things I tried in desperate attempts to find a simple solution. By this point I was tiring of the tedium of this process.
When hair-brained ideas had spun themselves to death, the miracle of thought presented itself and I saw, plainly, that this medium that required so many steps, including measuring with an instrument instead of an eyeball (don't worry I did a lot of that too), was exactly like making something out of clay, or sewing a dress when you can't understand the pattern, or probably creating a web site (no not that, PLEASE). You start with the idea, know the materials, and solve the problem according to what the materials and the tools can do. Sinchy, especially when you delete the resistance.
I'm not exactly finished but I do know exactly what to do in the morning when I will whoop and holler to announce my victory.
For myself I even went so far as to revere hand tools from prehistoric times, like the fondly remembered hand drill from grade school woodworking. It symbolized an empowerment then that I couldn't maintain at the helm of the loud and dangerous newcomers, which I held in paralyzing contempt. It was okay by me to have someone who could do it better. But that's were the whining in me began, when there wasn't someone there to do it for me.
Today I was doing some repair work on an old treadle potter's wheel.
There was no way to do this without the power saw and the drill. The drill didn't worry me, even though once long ago I got my hair caught in one and ended up with an oversized ornament on my head. But the saw...King always very kindly warned us girls "get ready for noise" -that was something else. Knowing I HAD to do these repairs, I timed it just right and tried out the saw just before Jame and Scott came yesterday just in case...and to my surprise even though I was cutting an awkward piece of warped plywood perched at a half-assed angle on top of a wood pile (my specialty -impulsive research),I really didn't hear the saw as loud at all. It was wierd, there was no shallow breathing, no weak knees, no shakey hands (thank goodness), so I cut it again -same thing, just a piece of wood getting smaller and I was in charge, and the sound just a buzz muffled by my own power.
The inner whining about having to do the project myself went on for most of the day today as I went about the renovations. I did all the things I would have rolled my eyes at King for: there was a trip to the hardware store for a bolt, a chuck key, and a drill bit; there were numerous trips to the house to find things; and the biggest of all -it took all day. The whining was really about the fact that if only I had some man here to do this for me it would take about a half an hour. Believe me I mentally panned the neighborhood and imagined myself approaching some unsuspecting retired fellow digging around in his garage. Luckily that held less appeal than toughing it out. The beauty of the whole exercise was that there was no man to do it for me and waiting until one happened along was not an option. What is going on in the universe these days? I feel like my life of thistley lessons has been put into hyperdrive. Is this a test? I can't help hoping there will be a prize.
The piece de resistance was that when I thought I was finished, the wheel didn't work and the real task still lay before me. I was forced to sit down and ponder. The first part had been easy as there were rotten pieces that needed to be refashioned and replaced but now there was the mystery of why the wheel wobbled. I'm not even going to tell you some of the things I tried in desperate attempts to find a simple solution. By this point I was tiring of the tedium of this process.
When hair-brained ideas had spun themselves to death, the miracle of thought presented itself and I saw, plainly, that this medium that required so many steps, including measuring with an instrument instead of an eyeball (don't worry I did a lot of that too), was exactly like making something out of clay, or sewing a dress when you can't understand the pattern, or probably creating a web site (no not that, PLEASE). You start with the idea, know the materials, and solve the problem according to what the materials and the tools can do. Sinchy, especially when you delete the resistance.
I'm not exactly finished but I do know exactly what to do in the morning when I will whoop and holler to announce my victory.
posted by cara graver at 7:12 PM
3 Comments:
I can't wait to hear the whoop and holler!
The prize? It's you.
Let's hear it for girl power, sista!
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