Seeing the galleries of this incredible cardstacker took me back to my own childhood. Though nowhere near this scale, card stacking was my favorite afternoon activity during vacations. I had just two stacks to work with.
I remembered how my back felt sore from my exertions, how I would sweat in the fan-less heat of Indian summer, how I lost track of time, how my mind was completely focused on keeping the hundred and four cards in precarious balance through the end. Most of all the feeling of immense satisfaction in having built my house of cards that could tumbling down any moment.
Card stacking became a leitmotif of my life. It was the same kind of energy I expended into my marriage trying to perfect what was inherently flawed. I would not give up until I had my brief moment of glory before the calamitous end as is the fate of every house of cards. Card stacking literally at first and figuratively later is the closest I have come to sand mandala painting - a concept I deeply admire.
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