An acquaintance of mine once found herself in a jam and needed to chop a bushel of tomatoes for a sandwich wagon she would run the next day at an art show. I wanted to help out and offered to chop the tomatoes.
â€œShow me your knife.â€
I pulled it from a drawer. She seemed satisfied enough that it was separated from other implements of destruction. She produced a tomato and asked me to cut it. I pressed the blade to the tomato skin.
I drew it across the skin where it bunched, squashing through the locular cavity. Juice squirted out and seeds dislodged from their placenta. In short, I ripped it with a very dull knife. Iâ€™d had the knife a few years and it never occurred to me to sharpen it. With this knife, Iâ€™d have better luck making tomato sauce.
â€œIâ€™ll be right back.â€ She left through the front door and in her absence I experienced intense tomato shame. What could I do with this poor tomato? Did she want it back? Should I throw it away? Should I keep it? Is a ruined tomato edible? (Yes it is, with salt & pepper, please.) She returned only moments later with a different kind of knife.â€œTry this.â€
I had just started to lay the blade on the skin and it basically fell through the tomato, cutting it so cleanly that I gasped. She laughed and told me when she would be back for them.Â I couldn’t get over how little effort it took to chop those tomatoes. It didn’t occur to me that I’d been struggling until I wasn’t.
That became aÂ life lesson not only about keeping blades sharpÂ but taking care of â€œmy toolsâ€ whatever they might be.Â This same lesson informed my decision to get a better word program when my writing became more serious.
Are you trying to accomplish something right now using a dull tool? If you canâ€™t find a way to sharpen it you might need to replace it. The time wasted trying to make it work will be better spent elsewhere.
Do you have a â€œDull Knifeâ€ story? Iâ€™d love to hear from you. Thanks for coming by today. I hope to see you next time.