Finishing up for the night and transferring some video to edit. It’s interesting watching my hands at work because they do things that not conscious of. A choreography of gestures, pushing and pulling, each finger alternating between equal and opposite forces.
Retrieving fallen branches. Bending things until they break. The dry, percussive snap and crunch. Shards and fibers. Twisted remains, and I am an agent of destruction. Bringing order, making chaos.
Some tasks are repetitive but never lose their charm. A clean, bright surface emerges. Slowly but surely they all end up being .025″ thick. (0.6 mm)
It’s a day of vessels.
Do you ever stop to consider what your hands feel like to others? What someone encounters when they shake your hand, or hold it? I’m conscious of my rough and utilitarian paws. There’s usually an awful looking bandage on them somewhere.
I’m trying to drink more water. I’m trying.
My very old and much-treasured mixing bowl got chipped the other night. The man from the Antiques Roadshow (the one who would make an excellent grandpa) might say, “Well yes, but we have a little damage here on the rim…” and point at it with his stick. I suppose hands and bowl will just have to carry on as they do, mending or scarred.
“Not right." you say, looking at your pink hands.
(You think they belong to an older person)
"Your mother’s hands were much worse at your age.”
(Remember the arthritic bumps and the way the fingers folded awkwardly to the side like a bird’s wing plucked of most feathers.)
“Yes. Of course.”
You are making a concerted effort to remove the skin of an apple as if it was an orange.
EXTREME Rock, Paper, Scissors…don’t see how a sponge beats a gun…or lightning…but pretty cool anyway.
"Good ol’ reliable rock! Nothin’ beats that!“ And it’s true. Rock would win every time if there was real justice in the world.
Authentic body modification. I started playing guitar when I was ten and growing. The little finger on my left hand is about ¼" longer than my right. I remember the frustration of stretching for notes and finding them just out of reach. Sometimes pursuit of our desire writes itself in our flesh and bones.
I have developed a strange appreciation for these wasabi peas. All the crunchy goodness of a corn nut, with the awesome-o power of …wasabi!
Lachrimaestro 