Visited the inlaws, in order to admire the MIL’s cookies (some kind of HOF she’s doing) and use my father-in-law Bill’s table saw. It’s a older little 10” Craftsman saw, and the centerpiece of his workshop. Almost everything else is shoved up against the walls around it – every time I work there I want to tear my hair out and scream “space planning! space planning!”. Bill has a wonderful set of tools, and a nice amount of space—it’s just so badly organized that if you want to use anything but that saw , you need to rearrange the whole room.
All my lumber, piled up out of the way, on top of the sofa and hot-tub cover in front of the drill presses.
Marking. Nice and straight forward. I need 8 30” pieces, 6 32.5”, another 4 32.5” out of my 1×6, and some 12×12 squares of plywood.
The saw is set up, I’ve got my faceguard, and there’s a clamp to help stabilize the 8’ pieces.
Stabilization is needed because there is nothing really good to support long lumber pieces on here. The bucket chairs? The other table saw? Neither is the right height. Speaking of that table saw, Bill told me today that it is my table saw, and I just need to tell him when to bring it over. I’m not sure if it is late mother’s day, early birthday or a right on time “get this the heck out of my shop” gift, but I’m not going to argue with a free table saw.
Cutting proceeds pleasantly and uneventfully. I make lots of saw dust, and get Bill to help me rip the plywood because I have never done plywood before (I turn out to be crap-tastic at it. I need more practice.). In the end, my pile of long lumber becomes this nicely binned pile of short lumber sitting in the workshop area and ready to become my sawhorses.
-- Work hard, play hard, drink good beer.