A quote: “Beware of the person who can’t be bothered by details.” ~~ William Feather
I’ll start with a story …
***************************
Res minutiae sunt magni momenti.
Or, more simply “Details Matter”.
It’s a story I like to tell my students whenever the weather turns warm and they are paying more attention to the green open spaces outside the windows than their lessons.
Mr. Hudson was in this past week … he teaches Territorial History with a deep passion and a bit of theatrics that has the students on the edge of their seats. But it is history in bold colors and broad strokes.
I build on it, asking the boys and girls to imagine being part of First Wave … the men and women who fled The City into the wilderness. What would you take with you? What would you need to survive?
Food! What kind and what happens when you eat it all? Clothing! What kind? It’s bulky and your space is limited.
My students form groups, each coming up with lists, arguing over what’s needed, what can be left behind. I challenge them on time, distance, and what’s needed to survive when you stop in the wilderness. What you need to thrive after basic needs are met.
And I tell them of Ruth Graham, who listened to the same arguments as families fled The City. She was short on time and what she could carry, what would be needed and what they wouldn’t be able to make for themselves for a long time.
It’s amazing how many steel sewing needles one could carry in a satchel.
Enough to have at least one street in every town named after you.
***************************
Now, it’s your turn.
.
.
.
.
.
. featured image, cropped, Adobe Stock standard license
The girl sat still and held out her arm. “I appreciate you agreeing to-”
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” I snapped. I evaluated the damage and growled in irritation. “How in the Hells did you make it this far?”
“I can ignore the pain and carry on,” she replied.
“Well lucky for you there’s no rot inside. Hold still.” I deftly stitched the arm closed and whispered Words into the thread. There was a soft blue glow and the flesh absorbed the thread. The girl wiggled her fingers and smiled happily.
“Thank you so much, sir. And frankly, I’m surprised you agreed to help me.”
I applied some salve and shrugged. “You’re a golem so in my eyes you are an abomination to nature. But your money spends the same as everyone else’s and if I sent you away, you’d end up under the care of some butcher and you’d be back here anyways.”
I stared at her. “Let me guess; you can take the damage and patching you is cheap?” At her nod, I passed her a small token. “The Guild Master owes me favors. Show him this and tell him everything. Don’t put up with being abused.”
The Chongu are still having trouble coming to terms with humanity’s lack of a full body pelt or plumage. Sure, they can see us wearing clothes, but they really don’t grasp what it means. Not just having to clean them regularly to get out the dirt and sweat, but also the need to mend them if the need to replace them doesn’t overrun the ability of a wartime economy to produce new garments in adequate numbers.
So we’ve been struggling to get such simple things as needles and spools of thread, let alone sewing machines or anything more sophisticated. We’ve even had people unraveling old garments for their threads in order to mend small tears.
2 Comments