AccessMyLibrary provides FREE access to over 30 million articles from top publications available through your library.
Create a link to this page
Copy and paste this link tag into your Web page or blog:
Tracing back, I'd have to admit to a continuing attraction to opportunities for violent destruction.
* A hockey teammate once had a party to demolish a wall for her remodeling project. After the rest of us used crowbars to bash out the lathe-and-plaster wall--including a teammate known as "Masher"--our goalie fired up her chainsaw to zip off the oak studs.
* While converting our 1929 schoolhouse into a home, we knocked off five dumpsters full of wall covering, consisting of sheetrock covered by a layer of plaster. It was there--repeatedly swinging a crowbar while watching the wall crumble--that I found my Zen state.
* When our graphics guru Lisa needed help in removing her old kitchen, I eagerly volunteered my skills. There I picked up the nickname Basher for my delight in removing her old cabinets and turning them into firewood.
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
Today a shrink might describe my destructive streak as compensation for society forcing me to "play nice." I'd cop to that. There are days when playing tennis is valuable as a socially acceptable outlet for beating the living daylights out of an inanimate object (the ball) rather than a living thing.
Habitat for Humanity