Peaceable assembly

BRIAN:  Have you seen some of the dopes that take shop?
BENDER:   I take shop.
~ The Breakfast Club, John Hughes (1985)

My new stereo stand was delivered the other day, in a battered box that looked like someone had punched a fist through it. But the inside packing - styrofoam padding, etc. - appeared to be intact, and my friendly neighborhood UPS delivery person wouldn't have left a damaged package, oh no. The thing is HEAVY - with warning labels all over that it weighs over 70 lbs. - so I only dragged it into the front hall and unpacked it there.

Base, shelves, sides, glass door, open back: looking good. Then, finally, the hardware, and I sat down to read the directions. Which were for a horizontal-format stand, when I had specifically ordered a vertical stacking stand. Woe was me (or maybe I): had they shipped, and had I just carefully unpacked, the wrong item? Was I going to have to try to put it all back into what was left of that battered box? And haul it away again? <daunted>

But no, when I checked my order online, I had ordered an EL-141S, which is how the box remnant was labeled. It was the right stuff, just the wrong directions (EL-144S). BUT! Over at the manufacturer's site, I FOUND THE ASSEMBLY DIRECTIONS for my 141S. So I sat down and did an inventory of the hardware (after 30 years, I've learned) and it was all there.

Screwdrivers and hammer lined up, I plopped on the rug to fool around with assembly. I had had a yoga class that morning, and the yogi kept telling us about a cycle that begins with exploration and learning, which is the energizing part of a process. It's when you "attach" to things, set goals and expectations, that you built up stress and resistance. Since I hadn't planned to assemble the thing, really - maybe just put the casters on - I was in the exploration-and-learning phase, and I found it incredibly easy. Kudos to Elite Industries for machining the parts so that they actually fit together, and screw holes line up!

I found myself totally absorbed in the process, rather than the end product, which was very zen of me, and not intentional. ("Intentionally zen" has to be one of the best oxymorons of all time.) And I found myself mentally thanking Dale for the things I've learned from him - like, don't tighten any screws until you have them all started, so you have some wiggle room; tighten snug but not stripped; make sure the door hangs square before you tighten the hinges; etc. I even found a way to drive in the little screws with tiny square holes in their heads instead of screwdriver slots - using a specialized drill bit belonging to my very own Black & Decker rechargeable drill.

Feeling sort of smug about being able to do this stuff, even if it ain't rocket science. I thought of Orr in Catch 22 - a man who could drive a nail without splitting the wood, and drive a screw in straight, "skills that would keep him in a low-income bracket for his entire life." I always respected those skills, and thought it was a shame that they're not more highly paid. Dale has always been adamant that I learn how to do all the stuff he does around the house, and I'm glad. I have more than my share of curiosity and "I want to play too!" But he's never made me use any of his saws. (He probably knows I'd break them.) It occurs to me that I have had some experience with saws: Stagecraft class at my first college (Blackburn). So maybe one of these days I'll even try to saw something other than my fingers. <feelin' the power>

The stand is assembled, and the stereo components connected - something I learned at my second college, where a class in High Fidelity Sound met the physics requirement. (For health credit, I took Human Sexuality. Ah, the '70s.) All that's left is placing and connecting the speakers - and that's another challenge and another post.