Post by Deleted on Mar 30, 2015 0:44:55 GMT
Nope, not here either. Fooled ya! LOL.
I guess I'm an aspiring blacksmith, hamstrung by my own petard-hoisting procrastination. I have all the 'parts'- Peter Wright anvil, hammers, mallets, forge table with electric 'bellows'... no coal yet, no steel, and more importantly, NO SMITHY!
I need to get on the stick and build one, but these things go in stages, there's an order of priority to it. There's a pile of pieces in the goat yard that has yet to become a barn for the goats. After that comes a garage, because while I'm a blacksmith at heart (no, really- at the tender age of 3 or 4, my mother asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I told her 'a blacksmith.' She laughed. I'll show her...), I'm primarily a tinkerer, particularly of the infernal-combustion engine sort. I have toys languishing in sheds and yard to be attended. But after... oh, the blossoming of my brain, the smithy to be put on the back of the garage... and isn't a smith a sort of dreamer?
Do I hear the ringing of hammers on hot steel, the gust of wind through the leathers? ("No, the dog's been in the garbage again.") Tell us about your smithy, your arts, your accidents! If I can't supply it, at least I love to read it. Let us get cyber-coked.
I guess I'm an aspiring blacksmith, hamstrung by my own petard-hoisting procrastination. I have all the 'parts'- Peter Wright anvil, hammers, mallets, forge table with electric 'bellows'... no coal yet, no steel, and more importantly, NO SMITHY!
I need to get on the stick and build one, but these things go in stages, there's an order of priority to it. There's a pile of pieces in the goat yard that has yet to become a barn for the goats. After that comes a garage, because while I'm a blacksmith at heart (no, really- at the tender age of 3 or 4, my mother asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I told her 'a blacksmith.' She laughed. I'll show her...), I'm primarily a tinkerer, particularly of the infernal-combustion engine sort. I have toys languishing in sheds and yard to be attended. But after... oh, the blossoming of my brain, the smithy to be put on the back of the garage... and isn't a smith a sort of dreamer?
Do I hear the ringing of hammers on hot steel, the gust of wind through the leathers? ("No, the dog's been in the garbage again.") Tell us about your smithy, your arts, your accidents! If I can't supply it, at least I love to read it. Let us get cyber-coked.
