Between procrastination and pain
Methinks I’ve found the frontier between procrastination and pain. The season is about to change, and my promise to construct garden frames has to move from piles of boards to piles of dirt.
I’m not sure why I thought that wood was wonderful. In the hands of a craftsman, the possibilities are endless. For the rest of us, mere mortals, we do things like they can be done again (and may well will be). I learned that even short planks twist. Not much, but when you try to line up two ends, that space “to the left and the right, at the same time” is a sure sign that a real tree was at the root of this project.
I’ve got long screws, and patience; I will win. Meanwhile, I’m using muscle sets that have forgotten (if they ever knew) about work. I ache, in my shoulders and arms. Tomorrow, things may be worse. I’m 25% of the way through this project, and if I can ignore certain human weaknesses, the job might be done by the weekend.
That project (the other one) to locate three hundred missing people has entered phase two. The first part was easy, but now I’m faced with a whole file folder of mysteries. Some folk I know, others may have crossed my path in a campus pub line. Still others are deceased, and it is up to me to sort the whole thing out, quickly. Meanwhile, the contact person at the institution wants me to pass all communication through a central office, while retaining complete confidentiality. As in, ask around, but don’t name names.
