Sixth grade was a different world. I still enjoyed school and I was introduced to a myriad of extracurricular activities. I discovered I really liked writing made up (really bad) stories about haunted characters that bore my initials. I read Pride and Prejudice for the first time and fell in love with it. I was part of a really great choir that had rehearsal at some ungodly hour like 6 am. My sister was gracious enough (read: forced) to drive me since my mom was paranoid about me traveling via public transport so early in the morning. (Thanks, sis! *muah*)
We had a woodworking class that was part of our curriculum and I looked forward to every class. I wonder if they still have classes like this We’d start out with some block of wood and magically create a working yo-yo or something like that. I remember using a vice and being afraid I would trap my finger in it. I remember using files to smooth out those rough edges. I have a vague recollection of maybe using some type of stamp to burn my name into my masterpiece. It was fascinating to me that we could make something out of nothing. I really loved that class. At the end of the year, high-performing students received a reward for each subject. I walked up onto a stage and retrieved a small cheap plastic trophy. It meant the world to me at the time. In the 6th grade, I was better than the rest of my classmates at woodworking.
Flash forward about 20 years… I’m itching to create something. Not like drawing or painting or taking pictures, but actually make something out of nothing. The choices seem endless: clay, metal, cardboard, and wire, etc. Where do I start? What should I make? It’s been a long time since I’ve used my imagination.
The Road Uncovered 