Swept from the corners of my mind…
My addiction of the moment is 3D printing. There is something compelling about choosing a file and then tweaking it with colours or size changes, watching it print (or turn into a plate of plastic spaghetti), troubleshooting and then painstakingly removing supports to reveal the results. Despite how that sounds, it IS “oddly mesmerizing” as my grandson said, to watch the nozzle move and the colours grow.
The other day I made a little metallic blue robot with movable joints. It was smaller than my palm but printed well. I took it to my 8-year-old grandson’s place (I love printing and then giving things away) where he had a guest, a 4-year-old who happens to adore robots. His little friend very much wanted the robot and Grandson’s Mom finally persuaded the elder child to hand it over because “you know Grandma will make you another one”.
Of course, Grandma would make another! I promised to have another ready when I picked him up for school. I decided it could not match, so I found another file for a slightly larger robot and went to print it in the same shiny blue. When I returned to the printer it presented me with a large pile of plastic spaghetti. I don’t know what had happened, but I had to get a successful print and get to bed. Again, I changed files. My next choice was a robot that appeared to have movable joints, and I changed the colour in case the filament was the problem. I pottered around doing night chores and peeking in frequently—it was looking good. Late in the evening the print finished. I rushed in to get it off the build plate and into my purse, which is when I discovered that not only did the joints not move, but the back of the left calf was spaghetti as well. Another Fail.
The promise still compelled so I chose another style, hoping that the smaller size would make it print faster. My relief and joy sparkled as I took it off the build plate and began removing supports. Because the print was barely longer than my finger, the required supports were small as well but hanging on strongly. {SIDEBAR: Supports are temporary shapes designed to keep parts in place as the print is being made. They are often reminiscent of a Dr. Seuss tree– round tubes that snake upside the structure branching into smaller segments until they reach their overhang. They hang on tenaciously and often sneak into odd angles that are difficult to remove them from.} I was on the very last support when there was a snap. I had broken off the right arm just below the shoulder.
I’ve glued lots of 3D plastic together, so out comes the super glue. I would rather give him an undamaged piece, but it was close to midnight, and Grandma needed sleep. I would make him a better one when I was rested.
There was no way that the glue would hold. I tried several different times, sometimes bracing it, sometimes holding it with fingers or tweezers, sometimes holding it because my fingers were stuck it. I even tried a method a friend had recommended, gluing tiny bits of Kleenex on both stubs, letting them dry, and then glueing them together. Despite several attempts, the only thing that took a firm grip were my second and third fingers on my right hand, which adhered so tightly that I had to resort to soaking the spot several times in a dish of acetone before they reluctantly parted.
Finally, I noticed a piece of scrap in the 3D debris and used it as a support between the shoulder and the original arm. I made it look like it was an extra weapon for that arm, then placed a piece of black tape diagonally over his shoulder and onto its chest, enhancing the military look while supporting the glue. With that adventure I decided that my poor little guy was going to have to get a broken robot in the morning when I picked him up. Grandma was going to bed.
The car door wasn’t even shut before Grandson asked, “Did you bring the robot?” I handed him the bag contained the shiny blue spaghetti, the orange spaghetti-legged robot, and the broken armed robot as I explained how I’d given up at 3 am. He was disappointed, but willing to play with the soldier robot. Predictably, Grandma promised to try again before I dropped him at school.
After work I found a pattern for a solid pleasant looking robot a bit bigger than my hand that had articulated joints and looked like I could print it without breakage. And so, I did. The newest iteration was accepted and all was well.
I cannot believe how obsessed I was with fulfilling that promise. I wasted a lot of filament, glued my fingers, and lost sleep over a toy that will be soon forgotten, I even gave up half a night’s sleep because a promise is a promise, especially between Grandma and her boy.
Cathy Bendle finds humor in the quirks of everyday life, from training teachers to dodging housework. When not writing, she’s either laughing at her pets, frantically Googling for her work assignments, or playing on her iPad.
