On writing and modeling.

The last days I took to my heart trying to ramp up the modeling production. There were many a reason for doing so. First and foremost, being jobless gets to your nerves and while having a thick skin is to one's advantage, the constant interview - rejection - interview - rejection conundrum eventually takes a toll on your mindset. So, I got the scale models out to clean them and take a few pictures. The first couple Kukuruzniks from the huge South Front decal sheet. The first series, 1932-33 vintage Polikarpov U2, built from the KP offering; and the ICM kit for the converted U-2 trainer bomber from 1942. Spare the saggy rigging. I believe the Aeroclub material gave way with time...

Some people give into the usual vices. Substance abuse is pretty much the easiest and straightforward punishment of choice for too many a person. Having to apply a methodical "economy of war" on a daily basis, things like booze and tobacco have taken a rather luxurious sheen to them. Other substances - mostly illegal - are not up to my taste; so I'm saving a hefty amount of money. Have you ever wondered how some people do to indulge in dubious pleasures and never see them working? Indeed, so have I put my limited reasoning abilities to the test trying to figure it out. Never liked the answer, though. Call me adamant, but maybe due to a few near personal experiences I can't stand druggies. Never judge them, but I rather be somewhere else. And I do.

The thing with not having a job is that, even having a lot of free time, you don't feel it that way. It's not a quality time. Maybe it's because those hours don't feel earned. They just march on one after the other. Void of significance, the natural thing to do - as I feel it - is to put a meaning to them. So, I build model kits. Even took to two of my old loves. Scratchbuilding and gliders. It has helped me cope with the inner, barren desolation that creeps out of desperation every couple of days to almost paralyze what i considered until a year or so a rather solid and powerful personality.

Yesterday night, I started two more Kukuruzniks to speed up thing. One from the paramilitary organization, the Osoaviakhim, in 1935. The other is a sanitary plane, pretty in winter distemper, skis and the over-wing Bakshaev cassettes. Again, the KP kit for the pre-war machine and the ICM one for the war-period U-2.

You see... Scale modeling saves lives. See it everyday when entering modeling groups from the USA and other countries. I'm nowhere near as afflicted as those poor lads are by mental exhaustion and attrition, but I find it highly therapeutic to seat for a couple of hours and research for my projects or stand at the table and build a glider or a kit. It gives purpose and direction to your mind. It helps to establish levels of commitment, enables the brain to go through a rather complex process over something we think of as everyday information: following the kits instructions or maybe even settle for your own building and painting sequence.

For those of you who are not into scale modeling, you can take up any hobby you like. I sing like a thousand squeaking pigs, but it helps venting a bit of pressure if I'm away from what is my main past-time. Take up cooking. Knitting. Reading. Go for a walk. See a friend. There's one truth behind all that. It will help you move forward. It might even help a friend or somebody else to go on, making yourself present and talk about a myriad things.

While not being a "Renaissance Man", playing musical instruments was one of my most cherished hobbies. Special mention is to be  given to - and rightfully so - my mandolin. Had it for ten years. A former romantic interest took it as down payment for my separation from her. That and a lot of books and stuff I've lost forever.

It scars you. You're left with the feeling that no matter what you do, you've lost something irreplaceable for you. And it is. But not quite so. You're actually missing the good memories that object granted you. The trick is not to forget what stories you went through with it, but let go the feeling of ownership. For we only own our very lives, their moments, happy or sad, and a fleeting grasp of happiness we must cup in our heart or it'll fade as if it never existed.

But. There's your family. There's your friends and acquaintances. There's therapy. There's several ways out of that quagmire you find yourself immersed into. Even the little things help. Just for the sake of giggles, I put all the gliders together yesterday and photograph them.

Clockwise: Rotter Nemere (Scratch), Stummel Habicht (Warlord), IS-1 Sep (PZW), Darmstadt D.28 Windspiel (Scratch, to be finished), and the Darmstadt D.15 "Minister Leuschner" (Scratch).

I like the way they look next to the other. The different approaches taken in their design and construction. Their different colours and markings. It talks to you about different ways to do things, in order to achieve different goals. It's life-like, in a nutshell. Never forget it. You're not truly alone. Not in the darkest of times. There's a song which has become a favorite of mine. It's by the german band Lord of the Lost. "The broken ones" is the title. I highly recommend it to you. It will uplift you and make you grin in defiance to Depression, Anxiety, Loneliness and the other buggers on that ugly lot.

Sing along lyrics:
"Arise my friend, we're nearly late

Still drunk as lords at ten past eight
Since fortune fled we're creeping back
To skies that we once knew
From blue to black
From blue to black

 

Through damnation we run
With two broken legs
And we find a refuge in our halo's crack
Trying to change the whole world
Hearts replaced with stones
We're not the heroes, my friend
We are the broken ones

Get up my friend, it's not too late
We have a cause, we can control our fate
Wipe off the dirt and feign a smile
At least just for a while, just for a while

 

Through damnation we run
With two broken legs
And we find a refuge in our halo's crack
Trying to change the whole world
Hearts replaced with stones
We're not the heroes, my friend
We are the broken ones

 

Run, run, it's not too late
Run, run, control your fate
Run, run, it's not too late
Run, run, the wise don't wait

My love, you know what we fight for
Take a run at bastards all
With words they hope will break your bones
Never forget
We are the broken ones
We are the broken ones

 

Through damnation we run
With two broken legs
And we find a refuge in our halo's crack
Trying to change the whole world
Hearts replaced with stones
We're not the heroes, my friend

 

For our dreams I would fight
With two broken arms
Still believing our life
Has the chance to charm
We can change this cruel world
Maybe one fine day
We'll walk as heroes, my friend
But not today"

Did I mention I love writing? Cheap trick. It's been several months since I wrote anything worth reading. So this little entry is very much like a declaration of principles and a hand given to the needed. Smile. Build something. Or simply be there.

Until our next installment, take care and good luck.

TMU