Sometimes there are no major projects to report between magazine deadlines; life, routine maintenance, and other things get in the way. The past couple of months have been such a time, but I’ve also been doing something I’m not very good at: letting go. I’m damned good at collecting; not so good at letting go.
Starting the ball rolling
It started when number two son wanted a bench grinder, of which I have two. One is the double-ended standard affair I inherited from Dad. The other I inherited from him, too, but much earlier.
Dad cobbled it together from a piece of junked machinery from the nearby woollen mill, when he was unable to afford to buy one. It features loose ball bearings with adjustable cups, like those old-school bikes had. I have fond memories of hearing it winding down as I lay in bed some long summer
