In the morning I drag myself out of bed. Up the carpeted stairs from the cool, dark basement where I sleep. Up the dog hair covered stairs into the kitchen, where the grimy coffee maker waits for me to fill it and put off washing it one more day. Hot, oily-surfaced brew in the clear glass cup--my favorite cup which enables me to watch the darkness swirling in the coffee and in my brooding sleepy mood. Into my office where I check the latest posts on FSM and finger the fresh kit on my desk. Ah yes, the kit that followed me home again last night, as they always do like lost kittens.
God, I did it again. I couldn't help myself. Before I knew it I was tapping keys on my smart phone, dialing up the Hobby Lobby coupon like an addict on a street corner. How much for one hit? Out to the Jeep in the parking lot, sitting idle behind the wheel, the smell of mud and cow manure from a pile I stepped in while offroading last weekend. But, that's not important. What's important--what's critical--to my survival is the glossy feel of the shrink-wrapped box. The cellophane will be crumpled at the foot of the passenger seat before I ever get home. The box will have separated in a textrous scritching sound as I pore over fresh plastic. Unfolding and refolding the instructions like a highway map to a road we all have driven. Bright colors of two different markings for the Revell F-86F, O Glorious Giver Of Modeling Satisfaction. We pray to you, O kit, O assembly directions.
Now, here, in my office on a Sunday morning, she waits for me on the glass desk top there. Old friends, the various parts of the cockpit, where we all begin. From the drawer in the file cabinet I withdraw the Tamiya Extra Thin. Arrange neatly on the table the Flat Black, the Light Gray, the knife. The fresh newness of it wafting up into my nose, mingling with the second cup of coffee. Yes. Time to begin again.