I sit with the stove and it’s pieces around me and wonder where to start. Because I am a novice it’s just too overwhelming to imagine starting on the stove itself, so, I choose a small flat piece of the cooktop and begin with the wire brush.  As I tackle the rust covered iron I begin to understand the need of a dust mask and gloves as red particles fill the sheet covering my lap.  

In a few minutes the rhythm of the brush becomes a meditation.  My mind slows as my hands work.  That’s when a thought rises into my head.  This stove is much like me.  I’m old and rusty, covered with a layer of grime, looking weather-beaten, losing my usefulness, and no longer with a purpose; the purpose of my life and that of the stove have left with the advent of inventions that seem to make our lives easier.  

I turn the piece of the cooktop over and continue brushing.  That’s when I realize that the bumps on the inside, what I thought was a defect, expose themselves as being numbers and letters.  The stove is beginning to reveal itself to me.  It’s a clue.  Perhaps an opportunity to find out more about what this stove is, where it came from, what molded and created the objects before me.  

It’s getting warmer now and I must lay aside this task and prepare for my day.  I’m really looking forward to the next time when I can continue this work.  I think I am going to enjoy this summer project.  

        ImageThe world reveals itself not by going outward, but by turning inward.