“Just as all roads, eventually, lead to a wider world; it’s still the journey that matters. Or so my staff poet, here at the Frankenwerke, tells me on those ubiquitous little yellow-stickies he leaves stuck to my computer screen and other places that he thinks I might be searching out inspiration.”
- Part 1.1 and Part 1.2
- Part 1.3 and Part 1.4
- Part 2.1 and Part 2.2
- Part 2.3 and Part 2.4
- Part 2.5 and part 2.6
- Part 2.7 and part 2.8
- Part 2.9
- Part 2.10
- Part 3.0
- Part 3.1
- Part 3.2
- Part 3.3
- Part 3.4
- Part 3.5
- Part 3.6
- Part 3.7
I have it on good authority. We cannot have another spring and summer; without first experiencing fall and winter. At least, the most of us.
Just as all roads, eventually, lead to a wider world; it’s still the journey that matters. Or so my staff poet, here at the Frankenwerke, tells me on those ubiquitous little yellow-stickies he leaves stuck to my computer screen and other places that he thinks I might be searching out inspiration. Anyhow.
The day shift has been a bit distracted lately. Lotsa snow. Really, really cold outside. Boatsheds threatening to come crashing down. Ice dams on a slippery roof.
If it wasn’t for the night shift, we wouldn’t be getting anything done.
And, a lot like Johnny Cash and his lunchbox-car, those guys have been doing it, literally, “one piece at a time.” My potentially hairball idea to cover the entire in- and outside of Gypsy Wagon with glued-on canvas comes with a significant risk of catastrophe. It still could all come peeling off. And, wouldn’t that be a fine kettle of fish? So.
One of my fallback positions has been the notion that each and every “edge” would at least be clamped down by some sort of trim pieces. Granted, these sticks are glued down to the very stuff they are supposed to anchor. An example of circular reasoning, if I do say so, myself. But, on they went. Sticks. Lotsa sticks.
A long-serving Federal Reserve Chairman famously warned about “irrational exuberance,” a while back. There is probably a lesson here. But, nothing hides things like a couple coats of paint. And, I’m thinking that nothing stiffens fabric like a couple coats of paint. My work shirt sleeves would be an instructive case in point. Anyhow, thanks to those guys on the night shift, the whole outside is more or less clamped down, and trimmed up. On to the inside.
And, the inside job is being run by a group of management specialists who still remember the shibboleth of the “eighty-twenty” rule. Or in other words. Every time I think I’m about 80% done with the inside, the remaining 20% grows back, into something else again.
Like that heckler who shows up at the morning staff meeting sometimes. “Hey, smartguy. What’rya gonna do about those piled-up, globby messes at the corners of the coachroof?!?” And, about all I can think of at the moment is, something like this common rejoinder: “I’ll work on it while I’m out plowing snow. And, besides, that night shift usually gets stuff figured out. Usually.”
Right now, I’ve got to go out and cut some more sticks. So, those guys will have something to work with.