The true practitioners of maker culture are not hipsters or basement engineers or Etsy-obsessed crafters. They are toddlers. Toddlers are intensely fascinated with the way things work. Watching you operate the salad spinner, the blender, the juicer, watching you build a train track and string together your magnetized trains, helping you roll out dough and push the cookie cutters in hard, I remember that the world used to be a fascinating place, full of mystery and intrigue but quite possibly understandable, until I reached a certain age and was completely overwhelmed by modern enigmas like the fax machine.
When you are upset, or hurt, or in the throws of a minor tantrum, it is often the promise of making something that brings you back from that dark place. You like to talk about the process - getting out the juicer, putting it together, opening the fridge, getting the carrots, washing the carrots, cutting the carrots, pushing the button, taking off the top, putting the carrots in, making a loud noise (your favorite part), drinking the carrot juice (your least favorite part), and cleaning up. The process seems to fascinate you much more than the end result. Most of the time, as soon as the carrot juice or smoothie is done, you look up at me and say, "again?" After you sprinkle the cheese on the ravioli we've made for lunch you immediately ask, "make more lavalolis?" When I make risotto, a rice dish that has to be stirred constantly, you sit up on the counter top and give it your full attention. My risotto was never so effectively stirred.
When you are upset, or hurt, or in the throws of a minor tantrum, it is often the promise of making something that brings you back from that dark place. You like to talk about the process - getting out the juicer, putting it together, opening the fridge, getting the carrots, washing the carrots, cutting the carrots, pushing the button, taking off the top, putting the carrots in, making a loud noise (your favorite part), drinking the carrot juice (your least favorite part), and cleaning up. The process seems to fascinate you much more than the end result. Most of the time, as soon as the carrot juice or smoothie is done, you look up at me and say, "again?" After you sprinkle the cheese on the ravioli we've made for lunch you immediately ask, "make more lavalolis?" When I make risotto, a rice dish that has to be stirred constantly, you sit up on the counter top and give it your full attention. My risotto was never so effectively stirred.
Roan, you and I read a lot of books about trains. You are enamored with steam engines, and really don't care about the electric trains or monorails. And I get it - everything about the steam engine is easy to see, coal is the power source, it's in the tender, and you shovel it, and the train coverts it to power and moves, making steam along the way. Electricity will never be as exciting. It's not as outwardly visible, nor does it require as much human effort to operate. I am going to guess that you will love dirigibles. You are more genuinely Steam Punk than most of the books I sell.
Here are some of photos of you making stuff.
Here are some of photos of you making stuff.
Making carrot juice
Making a smoothie
Making sugar cookies
Making play-dough
