All in life

men of letters

The shop of my childhood was a relic of the mechanical age: oily and unguarded.  Belts, flywheels and blades were fully exposed.  Solvents and cigarettes were held in the same hands. It was a place so obviously dangerous that I can’t remember ever needing to be told to be careful.

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after poking and stabbing at various buttons on the dash with no discernible difference in the cabin temperature, Dad finally pulled to the side of the road, took off his gloves, activated a touch-screen and spent the next few minutes muttering in frustration at the bewildering array of arrows, plus signs, minus signs and icons available. 

doing hard things

Another of our colleagues mentioned a footrace renown for it’s heat, crowds and a huge, difficult hill.  “It’s really hard.  You don’t want to do that one”, he told her.  I didn’t say it at the time, but I thought, “how sad”.  Why would we discourage someone from doing something just because it is difficult?