An opening door..

2017, day 37.  The weekend is over, that is to say for those who live with the dichotomy, Monday to Friday, from 9 to 5, between work and leisure life.  For the sawdust maker it’s only a vague memory, that dividing line and weekday activities can just as well take place on Saturday or Sunday.  The romantic early morning, warm bread rolls, chocolate milk and bathrobe time of yesterday was concluded in the afternoon with sparky fire.  The angle grinder was used with confidence at an, empty, rinsed with water, orange Repsol gas cylinder.  With the exception of the pungent butane stench and some burn spots on the legs by the barrage of small metal chips, at sunset two cylindrical sides for a garden bench stood proudly in the workshop.  Recycling is also a form of religion and therefore can be executed on Sunday.  While a Moroccan family is wondering whether it will be safe to, after the election of Marie Le Pen, drive with a packed car through France towards their homeland, Dutch PVV supporters, stupid enough to think that they can fantasize in a "secret" Facebook group about running over praying Muslims with a truck, assume that after the elections all hate calls and racist ideas of their blonde, an Indonesian immigrants descendant, Trumptesk leader, actually be a legitimate hobby, the day awakens slowly on the lonely hill with a few measly sun rays through the cracks of the shutters.  The red base paint which, like the tears of a Yemeni mother, didn't want to dry, on a project that came to completion last week, appears to be not sticky anymore and so the custom-made crooked frame, with straight Panel doors, is loaded in the small car to be delivered today.  The friendly face of characteristic houses, the rolling countryside, the authentic winding roads, ancient stacked walls and historic buildings, make Portugal an oasis of images from days gone by.  Nothing is straight, no angle is 90 degrees, no door threshold exactly level and no two window openings, just as there are more exceptions than rules in the language, of the same size.  The life of a woodworker is a linkage between making all seem as straight as possible and creative adaptation of standard parts into useful construction works that blend into the beautiful world of disguised imperfection.  It is not always easy to convince people who won’t let go of the consistency of previous experiences, about the time-consuming process that finding solutions actually is. No solution is like the other, populist politicians know that all too well.  The quick fix is often accompanied by ill-considered consequences for the environment, the quality of life and the future.  The issue is not whether a door opens left, right, inwards or outwards, it’s about whether it actually opens and what’s on the other side. ....