paisleypiper's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- the order of borders Before yesterday, I had neglected to contemplate the strength of rust. No longer will I overlook it as meerly adding interest in a photograph � I once took a series of rusty bolt photographs in my continual obsession with photographing what remains (it�s an interesting exploration on the power of photography and stretches it a bit, playing with the notion of proof, but that�s for another entry). I know that artists intend rust on some of their pieces. I also know it is natural and when uncontrolled, unwelcome. My friend T used to drive a car with big pieces �rusted out� and sometimes he would loose things that fell on the wrong part of the �floor.� Quinn and I encountered this second, natural, unwelcome variation of rust. We decided that we would use the strips of wood cut for our fence to reseat our pergola. Quinn ripped out the built-in benches without much incident, but the support braces were bolted to the main uprights of the pergola with six-inch long, � inch bolts that had rusted into one mechanism. As we strained and pried and tried to work smart, then tried to work superstitiously, nothing did any good. At one point, Quinn stood on a wrench, and bounced up and down, while I stood on a pipe wrench on the other side of the bolt and she moved me up and down. We could have much easier had a catapult on our hands than a simple bench support brace. Rust. Twenty years of rust proved stronger than our mightiest attempts at breaking this forceful bond. Finally, Quinn had the thought that there might be some chemical assistance for us. While I began thinking of how we needed to improve to face the mighty rust, Quinn thought the hardware store might have something to dissolve the rust. Luckily, it did have some liquid rust-melter, which I am wondering how a simple can could contain a substance that took an hour to dissolve the mighty rust supporting Quinn and me. I realize that I am late to the awe of rust group. I am late to so many things, and I did stop to reflect on when I had my last tetanus shot. I believe it was before I did volunteer work at a child care center for children with disabilities � I had to have so many shots � or maybe it was when Quinn and I entertained of running away to Thailand to teach English instead of facing the difficulty we were encountering from families and friends some years ago. Amazing how rusty nails just reach towards me, long for my soft skin, my dislike of puncture wounds (well, does anyone really like puncture wounds and the funny little plastic adhesive strips they require?), my dislike of navigating the medical system. No worries, we built benches with only hitting our heads and getting splinters, and realizing how stiff we have become. I think I sit and read, sit and write, sit and work, sit and watch much more than past years. The weekend proved long and tiring, but not without its advantages. Building brings Quinn and I closer together; working on projects shows us how well we work together. Rarely do we quibble when reach the ends of strength and stamina. Instead we keep adding our individual resources to the effort. Our talents do not compete, and I suppose that this keeps us tackling things and learning together what we can accomplish. Secretly, I like this about home improvement projects. Secretly, the process is my favorite part. Solving the problems. Finding the best approach to each step. Seeking the zen-like benefits of repeated steps. Tonight I write still exhausted from the big weekend of labor. As it nears ten o�clock I hope that I will sleep soundly. Last night, we laid awake too tired to sleep. In my case, too many left over thoughts rambled through my brain. Today I had lunch with a nursing professor at a small little caf� named for the owner�s daughter. Our work was to find ways for 90 pre-nursing students to have service-learning projects. I tried to be as energetic as I could but failed. I asked her questions about nursing and kept becoming struck by how much I don�t know about my body. How much I just hope that a few preventative measures will keep me from having to learn more. She researches blood pressure during pregnancy and talks about electrical signals, barrel receptors, and I imagine how almost intuitively people have taken knowledge that they possess but don�t �know� and recreated the minor miracles of the body in much larger, external scales. I�m not certain where I am heading, but it is funny to discover electricity before discovering electrical signals within our own bodies. It all comes back to the chicken and the egg. Who we are and what we have invented / created. It all comes back to the chicken crossing the road. Why do we have ideas that result in things like computers, how does the mind (certainly not my mind) create motherboards? Are we just recreating ourselves from different materials? Orders and borders (which is orders with a b on the front). Which brings me back to building. Quinn and I got the right rib cage in our pergola. The left has yet to be rebuilt. Wisteria grows up one side and over the top. Sometimes I joke about the pergola�s striking head of green hair. Sometimes we wish it would flower. And then sometimes we look with great wonder at how the wisteria twists and trunks, grows thicker and stronger, networks. It is amazing. And in another context, in another iteration, it could be terrifying also. Too often I cross the road from fear. Too often I run. I�ve been thinking about courage and have decided that courage is the true capital. The fence reminds me of how Quinn and I can have courage to take on a big project. It is not a fence about borders, but rather a fence about definition. We have a lovely dooryard in the front that makes some space in this world. The weird thing about borders is that they create space by holding back. 10:13 p.m. - 2003-05-27 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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