This past summer I carried a lot of stones. When I’d hit a wall at work I’d walk down to the brook and pick up the biggest rock I could pick up and I’d heft it back to the tree outside my house.
Usually that got me past whatever block was sitting in my way, it couldn’t be much heavier than a river rock.
In the winter such stone carrying is a bit more difficult, so I sand things instead. I do a load of woodworking projects; a few at any given time. Various things around my house. It’ll never end, far as I can tell.
The majority of the time required by these projects comes in the form of sanding. I like sanding far less than I like carrying stones. But still, something about the body-ness of it, the movement of hands, the attention paid to grain and marks and smoothness. The simple process of it:
Usually that got me past whatever block was sitting in my way, it couldn’t be much heavier than a river rock.
In the winter such stone carrying is a bit more difficult, so I sand things instead. I do a load of woodworking projects; a few at any given time. Various things around my house. It’ll never end, far as I can tell.
The majority of the time required by these projects comes in the form of sanding. I like sanding far less than I like carrying stones. But still, something about the body-ness of it, the movement of hands, the attention paid to grain and marks and smoothness. The simple process of it:
220 grit
raise the grain
knock back the grain now that it’s raised
oil.
It makes it pretty easy to think, anyways. At least for a little while. And there’s something nice about returning to work a little dusty. Returning to work that’s not dusty at all, a little dusty.
