I’m making balls. Little, tiny, one false move and they’ll fly off into a million directions, never to be found until they embed themselves into the bottom of your foot, balls. This process is, well, boring. First, you have to wrap wire and cut it into rings. That is boring. Then you have to fire them until they turn into little balls. Boring. Then you have to pick them up, one by one, with a tweezer, place them in a tea strainer and into a cleansing solution to remove the fire scale. Really, boring, so at this point I’m prolly shopping online or playing Bingo. You’re undoubtedly bored just reading about it. And I’ll repeat this process until I have enough balls for whatever I’m doing, cause you always need more balls. This is not the first post that has focused on these balls. For some reason, these balls and the tedious process involved in making them always gets stuck in my head. It is possible I just like saying “balls”. I do. I admit it. But the real thing that always resonates with me is that, for me, this particular task is necessary to move forward. Without balls, I couldn’t do this…
Or this…
For me, right now, it’s ball-making. Maybe it’s studying. Maybe it’s taking a really dull course online so I can get a better job, or exercising so I’m a spry 100 year old in the future. There’s always a million little things we have to do to move ourselves forward. And a lot of them are less than fun. But when I see something that I’ve done. That I’ve actually finished? That’s a little thrilling. And it takes balls. And balls I’ve got.
Getting vintage 