lessons three and four
No. 3: Screw random interweb suppliers who lie like rugs. Shop local, go home happy. Bonus points if you can do it in half an hour while all of your cow-orkers are suffering through some sort of corporate dickwaving.
No. 4: You always need a bigger bench.
Sewing table became drafting table became bench. Sewing table is large enough to contain one (1) small 1950s sewing machine, or (considerably less well) one largish heavy-duty sewing machine, and right now is bearing a marble slab, firebrick, my torch, a soldering iron stand, quenching water, candle, case full of pliers, a couple of Altoid tins, and a film canister of flux. These are the things I haven't figured out where to put away, after re-homing most of my bench tools, and I don't even know what to say about the picklepot (which is tiny, for a crockpot, but needs somewhere well-ventilated to live). If you've seen my apartment recently, you may understand what a disaster this is for the rest of our possessions.
I made two parts for something, the components of which have been sitting in a bag in the closet for nearly a year. I can't adequately explain the cathartic process of realizing things that have been bouncing around for months, craving implementation. I think the result will work. I hope, fervently.
(The first lesson, of course, is "finishing is finishing." The zeroth lesson is "fuel first, oxygen second.")
Muttering about the secret growth phases of ideas is still nibbling at my brain, but (1:24am) I am too tired to actually finish the thought. Too tired even to take up a random Beth's invitation. Sleeping, yes.
No. 4: You always need a bigger bench.
Sewing table became drafting table became bench. Sewing table is large enough to contain one (1) small 1950s sewing machine, or (considerably less well) one largish heavy-duty sewing machine, and right now is bearing a marble slab, firebrick, my torch, a soldering iron stand, quenching water, candle, case full of pliers, a couple of Altoid tins, and a film canister of flux. These are the things I haven't figured out where to put away, after re-homing most of my bench tools, and I don't even know what to say about the picklepot (which is tiny, for a crockpot, but needs somewhere well-ventilated to live). If you've seen my apartment recently, you may understand what a disaster this is for the rest of our possessions.
I made two parts for something, the components of which have been sitting in a bag in the closet for nearly a year. I can't adequately explain the cathartic process of realizing things that have been bouncing around for months, craving implementation. I think the result will work. I hope, fervently.
(The first lesson, of course, is "finishing is finishing." The zeroth lesson is "fuel first, oxygen second.")
Muttering about the secret growth phases of ideas is still nibbling at my brain, but (1:24am) I am too tired to actually finish the thought. Too tired even to take up a random Beth's invitation. Sleeping, yes.