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745K views 2K replies 162 participants last post by  Ecocandle 
#1 ·
New Year...New Hobby

I have been known to take up a hobby or 37. At 42, on the cusp of 43, and well into the 'balding' years, I have decided that, in lieu of a midlife crisis, I would take up woodworking. Don't get me wrong, a new car and a 27 year old with huge, firm, hands would be wonderful; But I can't afford the 27 year old, and I am not into cars that much.

In the summer of 2009, I went to an arts festival in Des Moines. The gentleman, who won best of show, did so with some amazing etched clay bowls. I am not sure why those clay pots inspired me to take up wood working, or if they were the only inspiration, but shortly thereafter I found myself living in the thriving metropolis of Martelle Iowa. I had my first ever basement.

Without a lot of money to buy all that one needs to build furniture, I started with magazines. The first one was called, "Start Woodworking", from the editors of Fine WoodWorking. I read tips on tools, ideas for projects, stories about great woodworkers, and I began to formulate a plan. I would start with a workbench, the workbench on page 24. The editors of the magazine did a good job of designing a project with the beginner in mind. They even provided a DVD with instructions that were really helpful.

The bench took several months to complete, though the plans were designed so that one could complete it is a weekend. I would guess that I spent 5 hours of thinking about building the bench, for every hour of actual working on it. I thought about what I needed to complete each step, but I was always only focused on the next step. The first step was to buy the 2×4s, 4×4s, 3/8" threaded rod, and a miter saw. Not an electric miter saw, a cheap manual one. I could afford it, it would cut, and I didn't at all care about how long it would take to make each cut. I also discovered in the garage and old hack saw that I could use for cutting the threaded rod.

With the wood cut, I decided I wanted to sand my lumber. The next purchase was a small Black and Decker 'Mouse' sander, some 80, 120, 180 grit sandpaper, and a cool looking level that I didn't need but it was shiny and I was powerless to NOT buy it. The next few weeks found me sanding each piece a bit each day. Barely into my first project I was already getting addicted to the process. The feeling of the construction grade lumber in my hand, after it had been sanded, gave me the slightest glimpse into the beauty of working with wood. I thought about how it must be to run my fingers across a piece of glass smooth mahogany or birds eye maple.

The plans required that I route a 3/8 inch groove into the stretchers. Before I read this magazine I didn't even know what a router or a stretcher was. Each new term learned, each skill set explored, opened up the possibilities that developing woodworking skills offers. And each discovery brought the reality home that care needs to be taken to master each aspect of woodworking. So before I could move on to routing I needed to do a bit of research. This is how one turns a 2 day project into a 2 month quest.

I read reviews and comments. There are many good routers to choose from and I decided to go with the Bosch 2.25 hp router with both the plunge base and the fixed base. I bought 3 bits. A 2" Spiral Downcut CL 2BB and a straight 3/8" by Amana Tools, and a 3/8" Up Spiral bit by Freud. I have come to the conclusion that Freud and Amana Tools are the two best out there. Admittedly Amana makes 2 levels of router bits, and I can't speak to their low end line, but the high end bits have been a joy.

With the router in hand, I had all the tools required to build my workbench. Each step was approached with a sense of confusion and fear. The first time I used the router I was filled with trepidation and pizza, as it was after dinner when I gave it a try. I spent close to 40 minutes setting up a guide for my router. Pieces of 2×4 clamped with 2 24" and 2 36" Jet clamps on my make shift workbench, allowed me to position the router to route. I had read that it is best to take several small passes for safety. Since I was already a bit scared that the router would spin wildly out of control and drive itself into my spleen, leaving me bleeding and generally disappointed, I decided that small passes were a good idea.

It worked as advertised. My first 2 passes made a wonderful 3/8" grove in my wood. I was filled with pride and sure that I was well on my way to being one of the greatest woodworkers of the last 700 years. My second board didn't go as well. I had tightened the collet on the router, though apparently not enough and it had slid up slightly. This had produced a slight up ramp for the groove. My ego needed this set back and I retightened it and decided that I was the greatest woodworker in my basement at that moment. This was good enough for me.

The rest of the project required gluing 2 pieces of ¾ " ODF together to form the top, drilling some holes in the 4×4 legs, and attaching the 9" Jet vice. The only difficult part was installing the vice as it didn't come with instructions, but my own insecurity about getting it right, made me take it at a glacial pace. When I flipped the bench back over and put a piece of wood in the vice, I almost wept with joy.

At the end of the quest I learned several things. 1) When marking wood to be cut or drilled, avoid doing it while watching college football. My bench still bears the scars of several errant holes. 2) Drilling holes with a hand drill, so that they are straight, requires a bit of practice. 3) High quality drill bits are much easier to use than really old, worn out, dull, bits. This likely applies to all tools, the better the quality, the better the results. 4) Fostner bits are cool. 5) I love my workbench, with its shiny red Jet 9" vice. 6) The journey before me is perhaps the most exciting one I have undertaken in my lifetime.
 
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#152 ·
I have just two questions



"We must all suffer one of two things: the pain of discipline or the pain of regret or disappointment"
-Jim Rohn

I thought I would spend the day continuing to work on my Krenov saw horses, since I didn't have any new DVDs or books on woodworking. For those that stopped by hoping to see a rant about John Lively's company The Taunton Press, you will be disappointed to know that I am too happy today to gripe about their inefficiency. Because Monday is a holiday, I won't get them before Tuesday, but that is ok, and I am not going to let it ruin my weekend. There is just too much woodworking to do, to be cranky. Of course, I may be really full of rancor on Tuesday, so today's question of the day is:

Have you ordered from The Taunton Press and how did they do in shipping the products to you?

You may post your answers in the comments, or if you prefer, you may send them to me directly. ExtemelyAverageOne@gmail.com

The first step today, was to cut the tenons in the stretcher for the second saw horse. I move at a glacial pace with my projects. With each micro step I try my best to do better than the step before. To date, I have cut 3 practice tenons and 8 real tenons, the last 2 were better than any of the ones before. Today's two tenons are better still. The journey is one of exploration and discovery. Today I discovered that in order to cut a straight kerf with my Japanese hand saw, I needed to watch the reflection in the blade. Once I started to focus on the reflection I improved markedly over my previous attempts.



Not only were the tenons better than before, they took less time. With each cut I become more comfortable with my saw. It is clear to me that the $100.00 Dozuki saw is worth every penny. The blade is sharp, cuts easily and if it is started on the right path, once it gets into the cut, it will continue to cut straight. It also cuts very quickly. I am completely sold on Japanese hand saws.



The day did not only yield a triumph in tenons, but an additional measure of success in photography. I never imagined that I would spend so much time photographing the minutia of my progress or that this constant work would make me better at lighting my subjects, but this seems to be the reality of it all. I would estimate I spent close to an hour shooting my tenons today. To be honest, I find joy in nearly everything around me, including, the ability to ask TWO questions of the day. Yes, I have that sort of power. It is intoxicating.



So here is my second question: Would anyone be interested in a blog piece about how I shoot, light, and process my blog shots? Feel free to answer with a Yes or No, or a Oui ou Non, or even a Si o No. I will actually accept any language, as I can always look it up online. I do love Babel Fish. Of course, if you prefer to give a lengthy answer, please limit it to English or French, and include a picture of your incredibly attractive, single, and female cousin with a middle aged balding men fetish.



I would also like to take a moment to thank those of you who have been reading my blog. The support and feedback has been wonderful. Today's piece represents the first day in my second fortnight and I am truly loving the ride. I hope you aren't too disappointed at the lack of a rant today. Enjoy your day practicing the discipline of woodworking.
 
#153 ·
In regards to question number one…. I usually go to Amazon.com for Taunton press books. Amazon has most of them in stock, they are usually a little cheaper than dealing directly with the press, and most of them will ship free if I make a purchase over 25 bucks. Plus, I usually get my shipments from Amazon pretty quickly.

In regards to question number two, I believe that most people here think not only in terms of woodworking, but in community. The blogs are used as a way of sharing our lives completely with each other. So I would day, go ahead, show the process. Members here are engaged in other hobbies as well. And, it is always nice to know how our work might be displayed in a method that is higher quality.

David
 
#164 ·
I Will Continue To Practice



What drives your woodworking?

I just want to be great at it. I have no idea if I will make furniture, turn bowls, chisel sculptures, or build tiny pieces of art. Each time I see something beautiful that is what I want to do. Woodworking has so many paths.

It is easy to recognize that dabbling in everything will lead to a mastery of nothing. The importance of focus keeps me on my path of discovery. When the temptation to stray pokes its head out of a magazine article, I give it a pat on the head and send it on its way. As the temptation hops off into the distance, I take a moment to fix its cute fuzzy image in my mind. I think about why those adorable little ears almost convinced me to leave my path. Almost convinced me to stop practicing and jump into a project.

I want to mark this possible diversion on my mental Google Map. One day I will stop practicing and head off the path to explore.



While I waited for my mushroom and Swiss cheese burger, I read the winter 2010 issue of Woodwork: People, Ideas and New Work. It is the sort of issue that one keeps forever. The articles are so well written that each time I feel unmotivated; this is where I will turn. The articles are so well written that they tempted me to run home try other stuff, to skip practicing, to leave the path. Patrick Downes has written an article about a woman named Yuri Kobayashi. Her work reminds me of one of my favorite artists Maya Lin, who is best known for creating the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington DC. I read of her life, I stared at the pictures of her work, and I wanted to try to learn her style. She has a piece called passages II, which is a bridge made using 4,000 mortise-and-tenon joints. To date, I have cut 11.



No sooner had I dismissed this temptation, when another popped out of the next page. Terry Martin told me all about David Ellsworth. He turns bowls. He turns magnificent bowls. The tale of his life, dedicated to the pursuit of his craft, filled me with wonder. He has a book, some of you probably have it sitting on a shelf; it is called, "Ellsworth on Woodturning, How a Master Creates Bowls, Pots, and Vessels." I thought to myself, "Find this book, devour its secrets, and learn to turn, buy a lathe, take bite of cheeseburger and a few fries, Oh, the Vikings scored…" I was reading the article at a bar and watching the Vikings vs. the Cowboys, while a washing machine sucked the sawdust out of my clothes. Had the Viking not scored, I might not have snapped out it. I might have wondered off the path. A pat on the head, one last look, and the temptation was gone, but it was a close one.



Though I choose not to follow either temptation, their work, stirs my creative juices. It makes me remember all of my own ideas, which I want to pursue. I returned home after the game, and opened up Photoshop. I dusted off a few of my designs, an art deco pattern, a chair and bathroom I created in sketch up, and I get my mind back where it belongs.

Wood is such a special medium. The soft feeling after it has been sanded, the stunning patterns that the years have woven into the grain, and the limitless possibilities that woodworking holds, all make this the most exciting time of my life. So I will continue to practice. I will continue to practice. I will continue to practice. Ok, now off to put the sawdust back in my clothes.
 
#173 ·
My Inconvenient Truth



I am completely gassed. Today I completed the last cuts I need to put the top stretchers into the legs of my saw horses. The last major hurdle was to cut the feet into something more interesting looking than a rectangle. Krenov, who designed these, has the feet with pleasing angles and a cut out on the bottom. I had delusions of grandeur and considered doing something different, but I couldn't come up with anything I like better than the Master's design.
My desire to improve at using hand tools has driven me to cut all the joints by hand, so I thought I might as well make these cuts by had too. I learned several things today, not the least of which is that my conditioning needs some work. Though I usually try to be funny, sadly, the last sentence was just an observation; a sad, exhausted, middle aged and completely inconvenient truth. I don't think my truth will garner me a Nobel though, but I digress, as usual.
What else did I learn, you ask? Well I will tell you. Practicing with my chisels every day has given me the confidence to fix errant cuts. The second thing I learned is that my two fancy pants Japanese hand saws have an Achilles heel. The metal bracket at the top of the blade prevents certain cuts. When I was cutting out the portion at the bottom I started by drilling a hole at the point where the angle mark meets the parallel mark. This was done to give me a bit of extra space for my coping saw. Then I cut the angled cuts on each side. With the coping saw in place I began to cut.



My approach to learning is to tackle the hardest tools, wood, and methods with vim and vigor. I choose to start with hard maple, because it is, well, hard. I don't know if it is the hardest wood to cut and chisel, but it is certainly not the easiest. It seems reasonable that if I build my confidence on hard maple, then when I am working on another wood type, I should be fine. The cutting of an 8 inch line with a coping saw, through hard maple, turned out to be a herculean task. A few inches in, I decided to make another perpendicular cut and remove a portion of the piece I was cutting. This allowed me to use my smaller Japanese hand saw. Switching saws sped up the process considerably, but the aforementioned bit of metal running along the top of the blade, caused the cut to be slightly downhill.
After another inch there was enough space to switch to the saw pictured. This is my first and least expensive saw, but it was the perfect tool for the task. Are the other 2 saws better? Yes, they cut cleaner, they have a finer kerf, and cut more quickly, but in this instance, they had to take a back seat. So I completed the cut and gave it a look. It was fair. Not so long ago, this would have made me sad.
No more! I grabbed my marking devices, drew a line to true up the cut. I clamped the piece of wood onto the workbench and began to chisel. After a couple of very noisy whacks, I remembered a comment from the blog, about workbenches being big and heavy. My first bench is not as massive as some that I have seen, but before I could fret about this, I decided to move my piece of maple and clamp it down over the leg. This worked wonderfully and was the third thing I learned today.



So the foot got shaped the way I wanted it. That was the good news; the bad news is that there are 3 more of them. Though I want to practice daily, with my hand tools, I also want to improve with my circular saw and router. Yeah, yeah that it, I am not abandoning my philosophy, I am practicing something else. I am not taking the easy way out. In all truthfulness, I am sure the router will do a better job, with less exhaustion, but I have used it so little that I am sure it will be a bit scary. The first foot should be a good template for the others. Every tool is important and every discovery is a thrill. The finish line is within sight, the saw horses are nearly done, and I will be able to choose my next project. Will it be a router table or a book shelf? And most importantly, will my damn DVDs and books arrive tomorrow? I feel another rant boiling up deep inside of me. Type at you later.
 
#174 ·
Congrats Brian. It looks like your "inconvenient truth" led you to some very "convenient knowledge." Fixing your own errors is a big step in woodworking. You didn't settle for fair and you made it right. Kudos to you. IMHO, expanding your tool arsenal is not cheating, even if it means using…gasp…power tools. With a router table setup and a pattern bit, you could create your first piece by hand then duplicate them on the router for consistency. Gives you the thrill and satisfaction of carefully sculpting the piece and still allows you to produce matching sets without the frustration.

Congrats on your progress and thank you for sharing.

David
 
#176 ·
A Giddy Gander (Follow up to Gnashing Teeth)



Staring out across the frozen tundra that is Martelle in January, I began to apply layers of clothing to my frame, as protection against the bitterness. This, like many of my missives, is a complete exaggeration, it is actually around 25 degrees and not bitter at all. (Now, back to the story) Fearing certain death, or worse, disappointment, I took a pull of diet dew and was about to leave, when suddenly, much to my surprise, the familiar bong of an arriving email caught my attention.

In a previous episode, I had ranted at length about my order from The Taunton Press taking so long to arrive. I awaited 8 DVDs and 2 books on woodworking. My patience had been tested and each day of disappointment brought me to the edge of woe. It had been 4 days since I had blogged about my pain and mental anguish, and I was already getting on my high horse and mentally firing up my poison keyboard. The email made me dismount. Just to be clear, though I do live in rural Iowa, in a very small town, 280 people (as pointed out by a reader), I don't actually have a horse. It is a metaphorical horse. Her name is Ginger.

So I got off Ginger, metaphorically speaking and opened the email. I was stunned, shocked, dismayed, and several other adjectives, which I can't remember right now, but I knew they were there too.

The shock was so pervasive, that I didn't even notice I had finished my diet dew. When finally the cloud of confusion lifted, I thought about the age we live in. Information is everywhere. We can spend our entire lives, twenty-four hours a day, reading and searching the web, and never fully grasp all that is there. It is for this reason that Twitter has thrived. It allows us to, with the help of others, find the good stuff. It has created a voice, a collective non-borg like voice, which helps us to see our world through the collective's eyes, and take in its wonderment in ways never before imagined.

In the not too distant past, a grievance would be suffered in silence, or if really unbearable, a letter would be written. This might help to heal the wound, but the bitterness and anger would never really subside. We have all read about customer service and how if we do something well, our customers will tell 2 -3 people, but if we do something poorly, they will tell 5- 9. Today I realized that is outdated. The blog piece 'Gnashing Teeth' has, to date, been read 289 times. I have effectively told 32.1 times the number of people, which the old model would have predicted. And I had only been blogging for 2 weeks. Think about a disgruntled Tweeterer with 1 million followers, they truly have a booming voice in the cyber world.



But this sword cuts both ways, for as we can complain, so we too can praise. The email was from Patricia A. Williamson, the Vice President of Fulfillment. She was wonderful. She had tried to get in touch with me yesterday, by leaving a message on my phone. I had yesterday off, and spent the day fiddling around with some hard maple. I hadn't noticed her message. When I read her incredibly kind and thoughtful email, I was turned from a grumpy goose into a giddy gander. (Ok, there wasn't really any sort of gender change, but in order to stay with today's alliteration them, I took some poetic license.) She had read my blog. I had thrown my voice out into the digital abyss, and my cries of frustration found their ways to Patricia. And she took action! My package is due to arrive sometime today. Patricia could have given the task of contacting me to an underlying. She could have stopped after leaving the message. She could have done nothing at all. What she did was to save me a trip across the thriving metropolis of Martelle, completely change my opinion of The Taunton Press, and give me a great idea for a blog.

Customer service matters. Business is a balancing act. In today's environment the scales can be tilted in your favor or not. If you handle customer service correctly, you will have a flock of happy customers. And if you don't, you will have an angry pack of blog eating your face off. (Note: That last bit was only funny if you have read 'Gnashing Teeth', and then only just barely.)

Thanks Patricia.
 
#182 ·
My Days as a Ninja



It seemed like a long time ago. The year was 637 AD, and I was studying under the master Ninja and Carpenter, Sado Asuka. His philosophy was, 'To master the blade of the Ninja, one must master the tools of the Carpenter'. He said this often. We built a Shinto shrine in his back yard and a rumpus room, for his kids. It was strange that he spoke English, but I digress. One day I was using the hand tools, as I was told, practicing my Miyajim-tsugi, or as the master said, in his best East Anglia accent, 'halved oblique scarf joint', when an elder from the village told me that I was needed, to help build a defensive wall, to protect the village from a pending attack.

I followed him to the area where the wall had collapsed. Holding true to the teachings of Master Asuka, I used only my hand tools to meticulously cut and join the logs, even though there was a perfectly good Bosch circular saw a mere 5 meters away. Though I knew the circular saw would speed up the construction considerably, I held true to my teachings.

Before I had finished the wall, a horde of marauders attacked. Three people died, a dozen people, including myself were injured, and hundreds had their feelings hurt. My injuries were severe and I was to be carted, by ox, to another village, where I could receive better treatment for my wounds. It is unfortunate that on the trip, the ox got spooked and fell off the path, into the ironically named, Ox Death Crevasse, pulling me with him. Neither I nor the ox survived.

Many centuries later, when I was reincarnated, as a middle aged woodworker with delusions of blogger, I would remember the error of my ways. It is important to master my hand tools, but it is equally important to get into the habit of finishing projects in a reasonable amount of time.



With the memory of my ill fated wall project and the succeeding oxen cart death ride on my mind, I thought about how I might complete the feet on my Krenov saw horses. I also realized that it had been seven days since I had purchased a tool. Seven! In some parts of the country that is almost a week!
Though I had considered ordering some chisels, I made the decision to buy a jigsaw instead. Off to Acme tools I went. They had many jigsaws and I had looked at them all before. I have researched jigsaws and already knew that I wanted the Festool PSB 300 EQ-Plus. They have this tool and I asked the sales person about it. He pointed out several features that I wasn't aware of and the deal was done. I bought it. This is not the story of my new jigsaw, but the story of its packaging.



He went to the back and got my jigsaw. It comes in a hard plastic case. The handle is in the middle of the lid. It looks strange, but it is actually very comfortable to carry. The latches are heavy duty and fasten securely. The case is molded in such a way that it is stackable. Apparently they have designed the outside of their tool cases to fit together with one another. So if I later purchase their random orbital sander, and I likely will, the case will stack neatly on top of the jigsaw. There are also slide up latches that allows one to connect the cases together, so they don't fall off, if you are pulling them on a cart. Should I also decide to buy one of their uber cool dust collectors, the top of the dust collector is designed for the tools to sit on it, and because it has wheels, you can cart your tools around together.



I love brilliant packaging. I haven't been this excited about the packaging of a product, since I worked at GEICO, "Where a 15 minutes could save you 15% on your auto insurance.", and a friend showed me the new iPod. He called it a Nano. I had to have one. This was my first iPod. I still have the iPod and the packaging. I believe that the packaging is a good indicator of the quality inside. I know, you can't always judge a book by its cover, but if a company puts so much time, thought and engineering into the case, it is reasonable that they probably spent some time building a pretty good tool too.

So I will finish up my saw horse feet with my jigsaw. The practicing of cutting with my Japanese hand saw will continue. And I will mourn the loss of the villagers and the ox that perished because of my unwillingness to use the right tool for the right job.
 
#183 ·
I am beginning to get the nagging feeling that you are actually an itinerant creative writing professor temporarily banished to the heathen lands of Iowa to do penance for some tawdry affair with mixed metaphors … how else to explain the creativity day after day?
 
#197 ·
Angry Beaver



Last evening, as if some mysterious and mischievous deity were looking in on me and saw how giddy I was over my new Festool PSB 300EQ, the power went out. Not just a little outage, one where the deity could chuckle for a few minutes as I sit in the dark with my unusable power tool, but a major 'the house gets really cold' outage. I went to bed. It was warm. I thought about using my new saw.

At 7:37 am the electricity flowed into the house, bringing with it heat, computing power, and more importantly a working microwave. Much as I love woodworking, it pales in comparison to how much I love breakfast. I made a turkey bacon, egg and cheese sandwich. Why turkey bacon you ask? Well it is certainly less tasty than regular bacon, but it is healthier, and choosing it over the good stuff, makes my mom happy. Hi Mom (She reads my blog). I would worry about reading the instructions for the PSB 300EQ after work.

If I were still in my youth, I would just fire it up, but I am old and I feel much less invincible. I read the instructions, especially the parts on safety, sometimes twice. I usually learn something. The safety section told me how it is important to have the correct cross section on the extension cord. They also explained the speed to use for different types of materials. The third thing I learned, and it is likely something that every reader, except my mom, already knew. With the right blade, and the speed set between 2 and 4, my FSB 300EQ can cut steel up to 10 mm thick. Steel cutting is very cool. The 3/8 threaded rod, which I used in my workbench and cut by hand with a hack saw, would have quaked in the presence of my jigsaw/saber saw (note: There seems to be some disagreement as to what I should be calling the PSB 300EQ, I call her Marey. Marey is a dentist and has great teeth. It was funny to me.)

So I grabbed Marey by the hand(le) and we sauntered downstairs to the waiting hard maple. Marking the three remaining feet was easy, as I used the first one as a guide. I cleared off the workbench, so that my workspace was clutter free, as per the instructions. Then it was show time. I pressed Marey's trigger, engaged the trigger lock, and she began to hum. I gently eased Marey into the hard maple and she started cutting like an angry beaver on a damn mission. I have only used a jigsaw/sabre saw once, and it was a really old model with a dull blade. Marey is shiny and new and her teeth are razor sharp. The difference was noticeable.



My first foot came out looking fair. I decided to make the small and much easier angled cuts with my Japanese hand saws, as I do like getting the practice, and use Marey for the rip cut. This worked really well. With each cut I became less and less intimidated by Marey and her power. The final foot went the smoothest as I applied a little bit of downward pressure and she handled beautifully. Like all of the tools that preceded the Festool PSB 300EQ named Marey, it takes practice to become good.



With the cutting done, I unplugged Marey, and she sat on the bench top. It was obvious that we were both very pleased with ourselves. I told her I needed to photograph her and the cuts she had made, for the blog. She said it was ok, but afterwards she was going shoe shopping.
!
To assess the results, I would say I am delighted. The cuts, including the ones on the edge, will need to be cleaned up with a chisel, which I am more than comfortable doing. Someday I will have a table saw, which will be more accurate than a hand tool, but I am fine with the extra bit of work right now. In the close up photo, the top foot is the one that I have already cleaned. I am so glad I have taken the time to learn how to use my chisels, because had I started by cutting with Marey, I would have been clueless how to get the feet to the exact way I want them. This would have caused all sorts of frustration and likely diminished the fun I am having with woodworking. This experience with Marey has also reinforced my belief that high quality tools are worth the money.
 
#198 ·
I agree with you Brian about high quality tools being worth their price, and that is especially true when it comes to to
saber saws. Your comment about metal cutting was worth mentioning. I don't have a high quality saber saw, but I do use the one I have to cut metal with. I have also used a metal saw blade in my band saw and that works, but I like the saber saw for metal cutting better because I seldom cut metal and it's cheaper and easier to change blades in that case.
 
#205 ·
She Took My Breath Away



Since I began blogging, I have taken to carrying around a small notebook, pencil, sharpener and eraser. I am more of a pen person, but using a pencil feels right to me. I was at the bar in the Dublin Underground, drinking an RC, no straw, my usual drink. This is my favorite place in Iowa City. It is a friendly place.

I was really focused on writing down some thoughts about possible future blog posts. I didn't notice the woman taking off her coat and sitting down one seat over on my right. I didn't hear her order the glass of white wine, or notice the look on the bar tenders face when he first saw her. I was scribbling away, when I felt the slightest tap on my right elbow, and as I looked up, she said in a French accent, "What are you writing about in zee little book?"

Normally that would be a pretty easy question, since I was the writer, and it wasn't one of those tricky multiple choice questions, I should have been able to fire back an answer immediately. It wouldn't have been a problem, had I not looked up. Had I kept my eyes on zee little notebook, I would have been able to say something like, "My woodworking blog". I saw her face first, and my response was, "I…um…It's…huh…I don't remember. What was the question?" I was having trouble breathing. She giggled and pointed my notebook.

I then went into a somewhat incoherent rambling about it being notes for a blog which I have been doing since Jan 2 of this year, and lots of other details, which just kept pouring out of me. The little voice in my head was screaming at me, "You are blathering like an idiot" I was pathetic. She sensed that this could on for a while, unless she intervened, "What is zee blog about?" This second question let me gather myself a bit, and I took a breath and said, "It is about woodworking."

She wore a white silk blouse, black skirt, and had short ebony hair, with the sort of face that launches a thousand ships. I think she said that she liked woodworking, but my head was still spinning a bit and I missed some of her response. It wasn't until she mentioned something about retiring from French national gymnastics team, after she grew 6 inches her senior year in high school, and had been a lingere model for the last 7 years, that I was able to focus on what she was saying again. It was a good thing too, as she asked me another question, "What is the URL for zee blog?"

She had her iphone out and typed in the address as I gave it to her. Since I knew that if I opened my mouth I would begin to blather on like the idiot again, I sat quietly and fidgeted with my pencil. "The photos are tres beau, did you take them?" I was a bit less shaky by this time, so I said, "yes, I enjoy photography."

We talked a bit about photography and then she asked, "So you have the wood?" At that moment I felt the urge to tilt my head slightly to the right and raise my left eyebrow. Tragically I suffer from the rare affliction eyebrowus parallelus, from the Latin, which means the inability to raise either eyebrow without raising the other simultaneously, thus keeping them parallel to the eyes. She quickly corrected herself, "Do you have a favorite wood?" To which I said that I like hard maple and walnut. She reached over and touched my arm, looked into my eyes and said, "I would love to see your wood." Damn eyebrowus parellelus!

She held out her hand and introduced herself. Her hand was warm. Her expression was kind and calming. I guessed that I wasn't the first guy to stammer in her presence. Feeling at ease, I said, "It is nice to meet you Sherri Seurat, my name is Brian Meeks."

Her father was an avid woodworker, and she was the great granddaughter of Georges Seurat. We talked about photography, her modeling career, her grandfather, and I was much less of an idiot than I had been in the beginning. I don't know how long we talked, but every minute was a delight.

I was telling her about my little workshop when she asked, "What sort of air filtration system do you have?" I said that I don't have one, but I wear a mask. The look of shock on her face startled me. "You don't have zee air filtration system? Don't you know that air quality is important in keeping your lungs healthy?!" Her voice began to rise. "My father never took care of himself; he breathed that dust every day until he died." She got up from her seat, sobbing, grabbed her coat and fled up the stairs. I was stunned, but I followed her and went outside just in time to see her hop into a cab and drive off. I watched her head off along the river towards the mountains. The beauty of the setting sun was lost on me. It looked cold and sad.



Thirty-seven minutes later I was loading the Jet AFS-1000B Air Filtration System into my car. I am pleased with my purchases. It has a remote. I can breathe again.
 
#239 ·
Heroes



In 1972 October 20, Pete Rose hit a leadoff home run, and then hit a single in the ninth inning. This was game 5 of the World Series, and the Cincinnati Reds had just staved off elimination, thanks to my child hood hero's efforts. The Reds would win game 6 to send it to a decisive game 7 in Riverfront stadium. I was 5 years old. On October 22, in front of 56,040 fans, and at least one little boy at home watching on TV, the Oakland A's captured their first World Series since 1930, beating my beloved Red 3 - 2. I cried.

It has been a long time since I thought about Pete Rose. I loved playing baseball growing up. Cheering for the Reds during the 70's turned out to be a pretty good choice. 'The Big Red Machine' won the world series in 75' & 76'. My hero was still Pete Rose because of how he played the game. His nickname was 'Charlie Hustle'. He loved the game. He played it hard. His later troubles broke my heart. In the course of my life there have only been a few who have risen to the level of hero in my mind.

Last night, I looked over the stack of woodworking DVDs which I had received, from The Taunton Press, earlier in the week. Sam Maloof, run time 55 minutes, originally published in 1989, was the one I chose. I popped it into the computer and was introduced to one of the 'Giants' of American woodworking.

The DVD invites the viewer into his home and his workshop. The cameras followed him around as he narrates his work and life. The beginning shows Maloof picking through piece of walnut, with him explaining how he marks his lumber. We are treated to wonderful detail about his thought process. He is known for his chairs, but we also get a glimpse into some of his other work.

He talks with ease, as if the audience is a neighbor who stopped over for a cup of tea. We get to meet his wife, who is obviously the love of his life. He talks about his 40 years of being a woodworker and how he is entirely self taught. Sam Maloof is modest and endearing. The love of his life's work is obvious. He talks about some of his prototypes, how many of them were sold over the course of his life and how he wished he had been able to keep more of them. We see his templates, and he proudly shows off one that has survived 30 years and is still in use, he even shows how he has written 'original' on it.

The best part of the time spent with Sam Maloof, is watching him at work. I am too new to woodworking, to fully grasp all of the tips and ideas he shares, but it is obvious that I am watching genius. My head swirls with ideas. In just 55 minutes I have had my perceptions about woodworking changed forever.

He talks of people, who present themselves as wood artists, and he says with pride that he is a woodworker; it is a good word, an honest word. Despite his belief that he is NOT an artist, his work can be found in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Renwick Gallery, the Philadelphia Museum of Art and The White House Collection of Arts and Crafts, to name but a few of dozens. He was awarded the MacArthur 'Genius' grant in 1985. I learned the last bits, not from the video, but from http://www.malooffoundation.org/cvitae.cfm and Wikipedia. The more I looked up online, the more I liked him. The video introduces one to the work of a dedicated master craftsman and I think most people will want to learn more when they are done.

Sam Maloof passed away on May 21, 2009. Though he is no longer with us, his work and life still has the power to inspire and to teach. I would recommend this DVD to anyone who asks. As for me, I have added Sam Maloof to my short list of heroes.
 
#240 ·
Brian

I posted this when Sam Maloof died, given your new found interest in him you might enjoy this video series of a workshop he gave:

Given Sam Maloof's passing, I thought I would post the link to a web site that shows Sam in action (there are other woodworking videos as well). His videos are in the Video Library under A Woodworking Experience.

http://www.woodworkingchannel.com/dolphin/videgovideo_library.php
 
#246 ·
The English Plane



"The English Plane"

-by Brian Meeks

In a tiny shop north of London town
At a maple bench stood young man proud.
Off cobble stone road sat a flower girl
A comb in her hair from mother of pearl

He'd returned from the war a scar on his face
He'd flown a camel; they'd called him an Ace.
At the museum she'd once spent a day
The artist she saw was named Claude Monet

On way to his shop, each day he passed by
He oft thought of how, he might catch her eye
She noticed his walk and his hat pulled low
She thought he seemed kind, she wanted to know

Each day he worked fixing table and chair
Til one could find nary a sign of wear
An easel she made from two apple crates
With a brush and plank she painted the fates.

The days rolled by and He spends them alone
He dreams of her each night he walks home
At the base of his door, in a pink bow
Violets waited for him and whispered hello

With chisel and plane and saw and mallet
The rough hewn walnut became a palette
She painted his portrait he made the frame
The rest of their lives were never the same.

He built her a house with a small garden
She took his name and gave him three children
Though they are gone and we know not their names
His joie de vie remains in this plane.



While I drove home from the antiques show, the little English hand plane sat patiently in the passenger's seat. What tales could it tell? I could only imagine. I don't know anything about hand planes, except that they seem to be incredibly handy to have around. I watch videos online and see people using them. The other day, when I was buying the Jet 1000B air filtration system, I asked the salesperson if they sold hand planes. He said they only had a couple, because people don't use them much anymore. This might be true among home builders and carpenters, who likely make up most of his clientele, but it seems to me, that woodworkers still treasure their planes.

I could tell that the little plane was worried that he might be destined for some sort of knick knack shelf, for he had been travelling to antique shows for some time, and knew the fate of the tools sold at these places. When I removed his blade and began to run it back and forth across the wet stone, he purred with delight. They years of neglect fell away and the blade slowly began to come to life. As the metal changed from black to grey, I could tell that the little plane was feeling hopeful that he might again taste the sweet wood which gave his life meaning. After 40 minutes of working on the blade, the anticipation for the little plane was causing it to fidget and fuss a bit, so I decided that the blade was sharp enough for now.

I put the blade back into the plane and we went downstairs. As soon as he saw the workshop and a piece of rough cut walnut sitting on the workbench he yelped with delight. I explained to the little plane that I had never used one before, but he didn't seem to care at all. I ran him across the board and tiny bits of wood began to come up. I adjusted the blade and he bit into the wood bringing up small shavings. Yummy! We played together on the walnut for a while. When I sensed that all my little plane's fears were gone, I told him that I intended to continue to work on him, to make his blade sharper. I promised him that I will make sure, that no matter how many planes I get over time, I will always get him out and let him have some fun too. My little English plane was happy and so was I.

 
#256 ·
A Viking Tale



It was in the spring of 975 A.D. when Erik the Red's 1st cousin, thrice removed, Sven the Brunette with blond highlights, headed out in his longship for weekend of pillage and camaraderie with his buddies. Sven was a giant of a man, standing 6' 8" tall, with a barrel chest, and a thick beard, also with blonde highlights. His friends were also rather large and one might say malodorous (of course one wouldn't say that until 1840 or later, as the word didn't exist in 975, but I digress). They headed out to sea, towards a little village, which they expected would put up scant resistance to their pillaging, and Sven had heard they had a nice day spa. He figured lads would be sore after a day of pillaging and he really needed a seaweed wrap.

Sven had not done a lot of pillaging in his life, he was more of a home body, but the continued success of his cousin, forced him to, according to his wife, 'get out more'. Apparently the other wives were beginning to talk. So off they went. As he stood at the head of the longboat, looking out over the waves, he thought about the conquests of Eric, and he thought about his other cousin, Bahn the rather grumpy. History has forgotten Bahn, but Sven knew only too well of his tales. He cringed as he remembered the stories of Bahn, with his massive hammer over head, screaming as he ran into the villages, 'Fear my hammer, fear the Wrath of Bahn!'. This cry would cause the men to tremble and the women to swoon. When the tales of Bahn were told back home, the men toasted him, and the women, well, they swooned too, except for Sven's wife. She hit him on the shoulder and gave him a dirty look. That night was a cold and lonely one for Sven.
He spent the next week fashioning a massive hammer from his best wood. He reinforced the handle and polished it to a fine sheen. He then gathered his smelly friends and told them of his plan for fame and riches. The lads were not terribly bright, and they all liked the idea of getting away from the wife and kids for a weekend.

As the little village came into view, his excitement almost overwhelmed him. They had been crossing the sea all day and were eager for battle. Sven had been practicing his war cry in his head. The boat crept ashore, down the coast from the village. They made their way through the woods, over the glen, and soon they saw the village. There were several dozen huts, people milling about, an ox pulling a scratch plough, and children playing near the center of town. It was just as Sven imagined.

He led his band of Viking Warriors down the hill. As they got within ear shot, Sven yelled out his battle cry, wielding his hammer with bravado. The bravado was short lived. The town's people all heard the cry, and a group of women, washing clothes in the stream at the edge of town, defeated Sven, not with weapons, but with their laughter. Not just laughter, but a full on eruption of boisterous chortling, with a fair amount of finger pointing. Several woman, laughed so hard that they slipped and fell into the stream.

Sven's friends, his Viking hoard, stopped soon after hearing the battle cry, and the aforementioned laughter. They just shook their heads, turned around, and headed back to the boat. Sven was crushed. He was confused and didn't understand what had happened. The lads got back in the boat, snickering, and waited for Sven. When he returned and demanded to know why they had stopped, Holgar spoke up, and said, "I've got wood!?...Massive hard wood!?...Really? THAT was your battle cry?...Did you think it through?" The rest of the hoard busted out laughing, and continued through the night as they returned home. It didn't stop until most of them had gone to bed, but quickly started up again, when they told the tales of their great adventure. Sven said, he would never pillage again, and his wife said she loved him regardless, which was all he wanted in the first place.

So with Sven in mind, I declare, "I've got LUMBER, really massive lumber." When I began my journey into woodworking, I imagined creating all sorts of beautiful tables and chairs, with exotic woods, and stunning grain patterns. I don't think I ever spent even a moment, thinking about where one gets beautiful lumber, for I knew that, unlike most things, lumber did grow on trees.

The book 'Selecting and Drying Wood', which is a collection of articles from Fine woodworking magazine, has opened my eyes to the challenges involved in selecting and buying lumber. I have learned that one should be prepared when they head out to buy those bits of trees that will become treasured projects. Roland Johnson's article in the book, suggests that one have a 'kit' for their trips to the lumberyard. He believed in taking a flashlight, gloves, tape measure, moisture meter, clip board with cut list, pencil, and even a hand plane. I wouldn't have thought of any of these things, with the possible exception of a cut list. The book also taught me the value of trying to select pieces of lumber that are from the same tree and gave tips on how one can determine if two boards go together. I had no idea how much the color can vary between different trees of the same species. I didn't know what heartwood was or how one could use defects in a board to match it to another board from the same tree.

I learned that rough cut lumber is cheaper than the kiln dried wood one finds at a lumber yard, and that rough cut wood needs to be air dried for 1 year per inch of thickness, if you don't have a kiln. I don't have a kiln. But most of all, I learned that one should always keep their eyes open for opportunities to get a good deal. It became apparent, after reading this book, that 50% of the skill of the master craftsman is their understanding of, and ability to find, truly special wood.



A few weeks back I made a purchase. I bought some rough cut walnut and cherry from a gentleman who advertised on craigslist. I bought approximately 340 board feet of rough cut lumber. I have been inventorying every piece, and I haven't finished, but when finished, I will have a detailed record of what I have in the stacks. The lumber was cut in June of last year. 80% of it is 1 inch thick and should need another 6 months of drying, while the remaining 20% is 3 - 4 inches thick and obviously won't be ready for several years. The breakdown is 20% Cherry and 80% Walnut.



I don't know if I got a good deal. I paid $400.00 for the lot, or $1.17 per board foot. It feels like a good deal to me, and I will get lots of hours of enjoyment from my lumber. I am learning how to build stacks. I didn't even know what a sticker was, before I needed one. And perhaps the best part, is the joy I feel when I walk downstairs to my basement (where I have the dehumidifier running 24/7), and see the stacks I am building. There is something great about having lots of wood.
 
#257 ·
Entertaining story as always Brian.

The lot you purchased would have given you bragging rights. If my math is correct, you would have about 68 board feet of cherry, which would have cost you close to the amount you paid. Walnut is a very good wood and you have a nice collection of it to keep you busy for some time. That said, I would take your savings and buy a jointer and a planer, or invest in a good jointer plane. The English plane you have would not be long enough to properly flatten the boards for projects down the road. You might also want to invest in a moisture meter. Not a very expensive device and one that can tell you for sure whether the boards are ready for your work.

Great find and I hope you enjoy playing with your wood…err…lumber.

David
 
#278 ·
Photographing my Blog pt. 1



If a day goes by without my doing something related to photography, it's as though I've neglected something essential to my existence, as though I had forgotten to wake up.
-Richard Avedon

I didn't know about the work of Richard Avedon before his exhibit at the Corcoran at the end of 2008. As a volunteer docent at the gallery I got to hear a lecture from the curator of his traveling exhibit, and learn about his amazing works. I became a fan. This wasn't the beginning of my love of photography, but it definitely gave me a jolt of energy to continue to practice and work to improve. My weakest area is the use of lighting; in fact, I just had 3 of my images rejected for 'poor or uneven lighting'. I am not kidding, as I was typing that sentence I stopped to check a message from Shutterstock, and sure enough the images I used in the blogs 'The English Plane' and the image of the 'stack' were rejected. I don't sweat those setbacks, because I submit my images to 6 different sites, and it is rare that the inspectors agree, so they will probably get reject by 2 of the 6.

The point is that the subject of proper lighting is somewhat subjective. There are however universal sins. Harsh lighting is always bad. The most common cause of this unfortunate faux pas is the use of an on camera flash. How does one tell if the lighting is harsh? The truth is in the shadows. If one wants to improve their photography, striving to eliminate the hard shadows is a great first step. I am not an expert, as I have said, but I can share the tips I have learned.

In learning how to create 'saleable' images for stock sites, I have read thousands of forum posts, several books, and a few tea leaves, trying to unravel the mysteries. One of the first tips I would give is to take your photos, with the camera on a tripod, and use the timer. The reason for this is that you are able to shoot in situations where the light isn't spectacular. I don't mean to digress again, but I should mention a little bit about light, and the way cameras work.

Assuming you not shooting in manual mode (and if you are good enough to shoot on manual, you don't need to continue reading, so go eat a donut and come back in a paragraph or two), your camera is using the tiny computer inside of it. That computer is taking a reading of the available light and it is deciding how quickly it need to open its shutter to get a picture that you will be proud of. Your camera really wants to do a good job for you. When you and your camera are shooting outdoors, with natural light, the camera has a lot more flexibility with how it is able to take the shot. But when you are indoors, in a workshop for instance, under artificial light, the camera looks out into the room and sees almost total darkness. It decides that in order to get a shot that has enough light it must keeps its shutter open for 2, 3, 5 or more seconds.
Now that may not seem like a long time, when compared to the life of a star, or even the time it takes to learn woodworking, but in the world of photography it is an eternity. To hand hold your camera, it needs to open and close its shutter in 1/60th of 1 second. If it is open for twice as long or 1/30th of a second, the vibration from your pulse will cause there to be camera shake. This will lead to a slightly blurry image, and force your significant other to lie to you about how much he or she likes your picture. This is why we want to use a tripod, we don't need to hold the camera, hence the camera can keep its shutter open until it feels there is enough light to get a clear image. Having the camera lounging on a tripod isn't enough to eliminate camera shake though, you must also use the timer, lest the slight vibration from the pressing of the button, undo your efforts.








In the world of stock photography, the top photographers shoot medium format Hasselblad, with Carl Zeiss lens, and a digital back. This set up will set you back fifty to sixty thousand dollars. Do you need to run out and buy equipment of this quality? Well, yes you do. I would recommend, if your children are young enough, that you sell a couple them. Another, less recommended option, is to keep the children and introduce them to the joys of spending their afternoons working in a sweat shop. You should still be able to get some nice Nikon or Canon equipment. That being said, it will still take you a little while to get your new equipment, so you will need to get along with your current set up. This is fine, as long as you don't let it go on for too long. If you have a digital camera, even if it isn't a fancy pants Nikon or Cannon, it is likely that there will be different write setting which determines how the camera takes the image and writes it to the disk. Once you find the different settings, there will likely be something like, small, medium, large, fine, and raw, or something along those lines. Basically it is determining how high a quality image you are taking. The important one is Raw. Shooting in raw will drastically reduce your memory card capacity, but that is what you want to use. The reason is that in raw, your little camera is basically capturing all the information it needs to make lots of adjustments after the fact.
I can tell by my word count that I have rambled on a bit, and I am not close to finishing my photographing woodworking rant, so I will make this a multiple part series. So before I put this drivel to bed for the night, let me reiterate the main points. Use a tripod, because it gives you flexibility with regards to lighting, and shoot in raw, because after you shoot, you can make adjustments to the image, to get it to look the way you want.
Once you have shot the image and downloaded it to your computer, you will be given an option to open the image in an editing program, usually included with the camera. This is where you can play with the image. You are able to overexpose (make brighter) or underexpose (make darker) the image. You are able to adjust temperature of the light (a future post will go into greater detail about warm vs. cold light) I have included 4 images, the 1st one is cold, the second one is warm, the third one has the black increased, and the 4th one is desaturated and darkened to create a black and white image. They are all from the same single shot, taken in raw. I hope this illustrates the value of raw and will encourage you to give it a try. I also have included a shot showing my lights.

So class, I expect that you are all eager to try out the tips from today's lecture. Your homework is to write a brief description of the camera equipment that you have in the comments section. Also I invite you to pose any specific questions you might have, though I must warn you that I am not good with world capitals or the periodic table of the elements.
 
#298 ·
Photographing my Blog pt. 2



I have been giving one tip to people for years. It is so simple, I hesitate to even call it a tip, but alas I don't have a thesaurus handy, so I have little choice. This applies to every photo, whether it is an image of your latest woodworking project or a prize winning picture of a yeti. The last thing I do, before I press the button, is to slowly force myself to run my eyes around the edge of the image. I know it sounds dumber than Jethro Bodine, but that is because it is so easy. In the words of a thousand commercials for footwear, 'Just Do It'.
When you start to look at the rest of the image, not just the finely turned bowl, you will notice that there is a corner of a box of diapers sneaking into the image. You will also get better at taking pictures of people. The stop sign that is 'growing' out of your girlfriend's head, or the car with your angry wife driving by the shoot, will suddenly pop out to you, and thus you can make slight adjustments (like making sure you take pictures of your girlfriend only when your wife is visiting her sister in Saginaw). This tip will work with any camera you have, though I still think you should get those lazy six years olds their first job, and get a fancy pants model. But I digress.

Along a similar line, when taking a picture of your work, if you wish to put some extra items in the background, like tools behind a project in process, or a delicious ham behind the aforementioned finely turned bowl, try to use a shallow depth of field. Depth of field is the distance (or depth) in the image, which is in focus. This generally applies to SLRs (Single Lens Reflex…aka…fancy pants cameras), but there are some point and shoots which have this capability. My mom's camera, the Powershot G10, is able to set the f-stop. So when I say shallow depth of field, I mean a small number on your camera's lens, or a small f-stop. For example an aperture setting of 3.5 will cause the background to be out of focus, thus causing the subject to stand out, while f22 (f stands for aperture, I could make up a story for why they use f and not a, likely involving a priest, a Rabbi, and an Episcopalian yak farmer, but I have already digressed.), would leave everything in focus. It is also important to understand how aperture works with light.

Shallow depth of field requires less light than a longer depth of field. This is helpful when you are taking pictures in artificial light, because the shutter doesn't need to stay open as long as it would if you were trying to have everything in focus. If you are getting really excited about photography and are starting to read up on the subject, you might run across the term 'fast lenses. This confused me for a long time. It is simply a lens that allows for a very shallow depth of field. They are generally much more expensive than a normal lens. For instance a zoom lens that goes to 300 mm, can be picked up for 3-400 dollars, a 'fast' lens, the giant lens that the photographers use on the sidelines of football games, those start at about $7000.00. This is not a lens you should need, as it is too 'long', for shooting your work, but it brings me to my next and last subject for the day.

This photo shows tilt shift in the table (sort of, it actually just demonstrates perspective, but you get the idea.), an annoying shiny bit from a Jet clamp in the top right corner, and also demonstrates shallow depth of field. This image can be improved substantially by simply removing the clutter in the top right corner. Were I to shoot it again, I would also slide the mortar slightly to the left. It feels slightly out of position where it is.



The amount of zoom you should use when shooting. If you are limited in space, you can use the wide angle portion of your lens, or zoom out. Zooming out, a back up the image, but it also causes something called bowing. Have you ever taken a picture of a tall object, like a dresser, and in the photo it looks warped? That is bowing. If you are taking a picture of a tall building, the building seems to bow out and the edges don't run parallel with the sides of the image. That is tilt shifting. It can be corrected in Photoshop CS 2, 3, or 4, but that runs you another $1000 and 8 or 9 months of intensive study to master, so fixing it, is not the best solution. It is better to try to take the image of your dresser from a greater distance and then zooming in on it. This will give you much better results. If you can put the dresser in one room, and stand out in the hall and zoom in, you will be much happier with the results. One last note, if you are taking a close up of your girlfriend's face while your wife is in Michigan, then try to stand further away, such that the zoom is at 135mm. This will be much more flattering. That is all for now. I am off to do some woodworking.
 
#299 ·
Thanks again Brian I'm still following the posts. Keep up the good work!!!
IMHO a photography class or 2 in High School should be mandatory in all schools.
I took a class at a Junior College in Kansas City Missouri, Penn Valley JC, and it really helped me out. That was 30 years ago so your posts are a great review for me.
John Gray
 
#318 ·
The Twins



I stand by my bench with my sander in hand. As I move it slowly over the piece of saw horse I see the marks of my progress. I gently pass over the little imperfections that taught me how not to us a chisel. I think about the progress. I think about the grain and how it measures time.

The building of the Krenov saw horses is supposed to take an afternoon, but if you are really skilled you can make it take a month. I am a person with this level of skill. Time is a funny thing and as I sanded away the wood, in effect removing little bits of time, I thought about my two saw horses. They would look very similar, sort of like twins, but each one unique.

In the late 70's the skateboard was all the rage. Not much more than roller skate wheels on a slab of plastic, it filled the summer of my 5th grade year with joy. Riding the skateboard was fun, but the real joy was hanging out with Doug, Marty, Paul, Jenny, Teri and Tracy and riding down the hill by our school. It wasn't a steep hill, but to make the turn onto the sidewalk at the bottom was quite the challenge. Once we had all mastered that, we tried going down in pairs, with each person sitting on their board and holding hands with the other with legs crossed. Making that turn was next to impossible and most attempts ended in wonderful crashes and laughter. It was also generally a mixed doubles sport.

I think I am hopeless romantic today, because of those days holding hands with Teri Holtz, riding down the hill. As I sanded the boards and admired the little differences that make the saw horses unique, my thoughts drifted back to Teri's freckles. Tracy, her twin sister, didn't have so many. To say the Holtz twins were 'cute as a buttons', would be to sorely understate their appeal. I think the saw horses are equally lovely.



Each minute sands away more and more of the imperfections. The legs, the feet, and the stretchers become smooth and soft to the touch. I spend a couple of hours sanding and waxing nostalgic. When I am done, I glue her up. Her twin waits patiently off to the side. While the glue is setting I think about what I have learned about woodworking.

I have cut 2 mortises, 2 through mortises, and six tenons by hand. My skill with a chisel and Japanese saw is better than when I begun. I have used Mary to shape the feet. I have spent lots and lot of time sanding. The understanding of how to mark up a board, and then cut to the line is now ingrained in my mind. And in the end, I have two saw horses that are 'cute as a button'.



Marty died a while back. I heard that Jenny has 6 kids. I don't know what became of Kate, Paul or Doug, and I haven't talked to Teri or Tracy since high school. They are different people today; I am sure, as am I. They may not even remember that summer. It really doesn't matter much. I am sure that time has worn away the edges a bit and I may not remember it exactly as it was. In truth, I am left with a soft, fuzzy memory of a simpler time, and wonderful little crush, with a bit of hand holding. It makes me smile.

I wonder if I will remember the joys of building my first saw horses. I wonder if the little nicks and cuts, now sanded away, will remain with me. I doubt it. But in 30 years, when I look at the twins, I am sure I will have a soft, fuzzy memory of how they came to be, and it will make me smile.
 
#336 ·
Confusion and Cats



"Confusion heard his voice, and wild uproar Stood ruled, stood vast infinitude confined; Till at his second bidding darkness fled, Light shone, and order from disorder sprung." -John Milton

You might have to read that quote a couple of times. It is about confusion and after I read it the first time, it confused me even more. I wonder if that was Milton's goal. Today, I was ruled by confusion. I felt like every moment from the first light of day, until now, has been a disorganized mess. I had several things pulling me in different directions. As the work day came to an end, I started to think about today's blog. Again confusion raised his befuddled head.

I finished the saw horses. I haven't finished them yet. See, even my blog is confusing. I should have said, though I haven't applied a coat or two of finish to the saw horses, I have completed the construction. I intend to apply a finish to them. I also need to decide on my next project, for without a project, there isn't woodworking, and without woodworking, there isn't a blog. Oh sure I could ramble on about something else, perhaps discussing changes in cheese making technology, or look into recent attempts to unionize hurdy gurdy players, or even write horoscopes for cats. (Leo: You look purrfect today, people admire you, and they want to be near you, to serve you and do your bidding…in other words, same old thing. A new ball of yarn catches your eye. Play with fuzzy ball, nap, play some more and repeat.) But those things don't really interest me.

I also consider the possibility of just skipping a day. I could do that. What is the worst that could happen? I could go hang out with some friends at the Sports Column in Iowa City. Of course, breaking my streak of 27 days would probably make me feel awful tomorrow, lead to more drinking, and missing of another day. This vicious circle would continue for a fortnight, leading to unemployment, incredible depression, the adoption of a dozen cats (One for each sign), and ultimately the writing of catascopes. So skipping a day seems like a bad idea.

I could ramble on about being confused…no that wouldn't work…or would it?! Damn I wish I could raise one eyebrow, stupid eyebrowus parallelus. Could I possibly be confused for an entire blog post? Has it ever been done? I could look it up on Google or should I use Yahoo. I just don't know. I started watching the Tage Frid video, from Taunton Press, and it is marvelous. Maybe I could write a review. Nope, I'm not feeling it today.

I know what I want to work on. I want to build a router table. No confusion there. The problem is that I am torn between two different router plates. Should I choose the Rockler Aluminum Router Table plate for Group A routers or the Kreg PRS3030 Precision Router Table Insert Plate? I have also considered the Rousseau 3509. I just don't know and I am worried about making a poor choice. They all look like they are fine quality. The Kreg is $10.00 more expensive, but it could be delivered on Monday, while the Rockler would not come from Amazon, and I have no idea how long it would take. Once I make my decision, I am going to be eager to work on the table. I can spend the weekend making the legs. I will use the same methodology I used in my workbench. So maybe I should just ask for help?

If you have built a router table do you have a recommendation?

If you have ordered stuff from Rockler, how was their shipping?

If you have a cat, would the cat appreciate having a horoscope written for him or her?

As you can see, I am still quite a mess. I will do better tomorrow. Sorry.
Here is a picture of… a dog. This is Zoey; she lives next door to my parents, and really likes it when my dad rubs her belly. She never seems confused. I admit a cat would have been more appropriate, but I well…eh.

 
#337 ·
Chaos is OK some times…

I have ordered from Rockler many times. It usually takes about five UPS days to my home in MA.

We have two cats - each of my boys choose one of them. They came from the same house and were born a few days apart in two different litters. It is one of those houses with so many cats that they really do not know how many they have. Nice people though.

The female is an amazing hunter, but maybe a bit inbred. Remember the song "Smelly Cat" from Friends? I like to sing, "Wacky Cat, Wacky Cat, how have they been breeding you? Wacky Cat, Wacky Cat, why did they inbreed you?"

The male, that we thought was a female until the first vet visit, is beautiful but odd. From a very early stage, he preferred to drink from the sink in our downstairs bathroom. He lets the water run right onto the back of his head and then licks it from the sink. He has those extra toes that look like thumbs, so I do not understand why he is not able to turn the water on and off by himself. Sometimes, the female will join him and lick the water off of the back of his head.

I think that they just might be the type for a horoscope.

 
#349 ·
Henry Wood Detective Agency



Henry's head was still throbbing from ringing in the New Year. He looked at his calendar, a present from his brother in Manhattan, a New York Giants fan of all things. The calendar had a team picture of The World Series Champion Giants, who swept the Cleveland Indians in 4 games. It was galling for him to look at and he mumbled to himself, "At least the damn Yankees didn't win their 6th in a row." For though Henry didn't care for the Giants, the previous two years had seen his beloved Brooklyn Dodgers beaten by the Yankees, and he could barely stand it. But looking at Jan 1, 1955 filled him with hope and optimism. This would be the year for Robinson, Hodges, Reese, Koufax, Newcomb, Campanella and the boys. His day dreams were interrupted when there was a mouse like knock at the door. He started to yell, "Come in", but then lowered his voice and mumbled, "Yes?" His head ache made him wince in pains.

The door opened slowly and a tall svelte woman eased herself into his office. Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun. She was really quite striking, but obviously shy. He guessed librarian. "May I help you?" He asked, trying not to sound miserable.

"Are you Henry Wood, the detective?"

"Yes, and you are?"

"I am Luna Alexander, and I am afraid my father has gotten into a sticky situation. I need your help. I am sorry to bother you, and I didn't think you would be here, but…"

Henry was a detective by day and a woodworker by night. To be truthful, he was a moderately good sleuth, but a subpar craftsman. Just two days earlier he had been gluing up a jig for his router, to cut perfect dados, and the squeeze out had gotten everywhere. It had been a sticky situation, in its own right. He turned his attention back to Luna, who he was sure wouldn't be interested in his gluing issues.



After she had told him about her father, his background and when she had last seen him, she asked if she might sit down. When she took a seat, it seemed as if the weight of the world was threatening to crush her. She looked defeated and sad. "Will you help me?"

Henry was about to say that it sounded like a missing persons matter for the police, but instead said, "I would be happy to take your case Luna." She gave the slightest smile, stood and shook his hand. Henry wasn't sure, but he thought he caught the briefest glint of hope in her eyes. She handed him an envelope and said, "My address and number are in there, along with the retainer. Please let me know as soon as you find out anything."

As the door closed, he took out his little notebook and jotted down the details. Her father, a senior level accountant with Smith, Havershome and Blickstein Law firm and had been working for them for 20 years. Lately he had seemed distracted. He and Luna lived in a modest flat in Brooklyn and he took the train into the city. Luna worked at a bakery and was always up and gone before her father, but also arrived home several hours before him. She described him as a meticulous man. He liked routine and always came home at 6:22 each evening. Lately however, he had been getting home at all sort of odd hours, would skip dinner, not even bothering to listen to the radio. He loved his job, he loved radio mysteries, and he loved routine. She mentioned that she first started to notice something strange, when her father didn't even react to 'The Shadow' going off the air.

Henry wondered if 'The Shadow' knew what lurked in the heart of Mr. Alexander. He headed back to his tiny little house and into the basement. He checked his magic closet which had a time portal to the future, and occasionally a new and wonderful tool would show up. The Bosch router had arrived just a month or so earlier with a magazine describing all sorts of things it could do. The story of the portal was a mystery that Henry had not been able to solve, but since it hadn't sucked him into an abyss, and often gave him presents, he didn't care. Today it was empty. The glue up, from the day before, was ready for him to start the next step. He found that woodworking helped him mull over his cases.



The instructions, in the magazine by Woodsmith, indicated that the dimensions are rough, but Henry figured he needed the practice, so he devoted a bunch of time to precision. After cutting two pieces he realized he hadn't accounted for the kerf of his circular saw and had also made a measuring error of 2 full inches. He found it amusing that his attempts at precision had been such an abysmal failure. Henry had anticipated just such a result and had purchased plenty of extra lumber. On the upside, he had gotten much more comfortable with his circular saw. Henry was a glass half full sort of guy.

He took a few photos of the glue up and then went upstairs to call Mr. Alexander's firm. Then his foggy brain remembered that it was Saturday and also January 1, so he would have to wait until Monday. He returned to his jig and thought about Luna.
 
#364 ·
Henry Wood Detective Agency: Monday Morning



Sunday had been relaxing. Henry spent the day finishing his dado jig for his router. He was starting to get comfortable using the router and was able to create a straight edge, then from that, square up the jig. He could hardly believe it when he put the square on each corner and they were all at 90 degrees. What a rush. After he finished the jig and photographed it for posterity he relaxed a bit and bought a new case journal. He jotted down a few of his thoughts.



Jan 2, 1955 A New Year…A New Case. 37th floor, Chrysler Building, Office 16…Go there in person, meet his co workers, look for clues. 8 am Monday.

Henry had called Luna, just to check if she had heard from her father, and he told her he intended to look around his office on Monday. She said that she suspected someone at the firm. Her father had been missing since Dec 24th, and Monday would be the first day the firm was open since he disappeared. Henry wondered if they knew he was missing. He would have to be coy.

The door of his office was mahogany and had his name on it. He walked in and weathered woman with a serious look was sitting behind a desk. She had a bit of a scowl on her face and was opening the morning mail. She looked up and asked, "May I help you?", in a voice that was much kinder than Henry expected. "Yes, I was wondering if I might speak with Mr. Alexander." He said, taking off his hat. He had decided he wanted to see if she knew anything.

"Mr. Alexander isn't in yet, but he should be here shortly, he is never late. Do you have an appointment?", she said, while continuing to open letters.

"No, I was hoping he might have a few minutes." Henry said, sure now that she wasn't aware that he wouldn't be coming in.

She opened another envelope and the phone rang, she answered and then said, "Excuse me, are you Mr. Wood?"

"Yes." This caught Henry off guard, but he was good enough to put on his nonchalant expression. He assumed she would elaborate. He was correct.

"Mr. Alexander apologizes for being late; you may wait in his office. He will do his best to get here as quickly as he can." She hit a button under her desk, there was a low buzzing sound and she stood up and opened the door and showed Henry inside.

The office was very nice with a large art deco desk and book shelves along both walls. There was a plant of equal height in each corner behind the desk; in fact, everything was exactly where one would expect it to be. Luna had described her father as meticulous and now that Henry saw where he worked, he understood. The desk was free of clutter, a new pad of paper by the phone. The phone was placed so that it was parallel to the edge of the desk, with the cord draped neatly over the side. Next to the pad was a group of 6 pencils, which were all lined up next to one another. They all looked to be the same length and as Henry looked closer he noticed something odd. Every pencil was rotated so that the brand name was not showing, except one. Henry looked around the office and didn't see anything out of place.

Having spent his entire Sunday fastidiously measuring and remeasuring every single cut and drill hole, he was feeling like he understood what it was like to be so precise. Though he wasn't normally a neat and organized person, he appreciated its advantages and the esthetic. He leaned forward and carefully rotated the pencil around and on the other side were six numbers. He read the numbers to himself, 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, and 23. He put the pencil in his pocket and pushed the other ones together. Just then he heard the buzz of the door. He quickly sat back down.

The secretary walked in and said, "Mr. Alexander just called and he apologizes but he is not going to be able to make it into the office. He said to apologize for not being able to discuss your numbers."
"Thank-you" Henry said, as he stood up to leave.

"Do you mind me asking; are you a client of the firm? I thought I knew all the clients."

Henry, quick on his feet said, "I am considering this firm. I met Mr. Alexander recently and he offered to go over my books. He said that each partner has different strengths and he would tell me who might be best for me. I won't give my business to just any firm."

This seemed to satisfy her and she smiled and held the door for Henry.



While he rode the train back home, he thought about the numbers. What did they mean? Obviously Mr. Alexander is still alive and well, but what is he up to. How did he know I would be there at 8 am? How could he have known I would find the numbers? He had gone into the city looking for answers and only found questions. Henry decided he needed to think, and he felt he needed to tidy up his workshop. Mr. Alexander's office had rubbed off on him. He could clean and think. Plus he needed to find a place of honor to store his dado routing jig.
 
#372 ·
Henry Wood Detective Agency: A Good Review



A rotund man sits at a typewriter, his sausage fingers dance over the old Underwood, and he puts down his thoughts, his gospel if you will. He is revered or feared by all, there isn't any middle ground. He is the restaurant critic for the Brooklyn Daily News. If he likes a new restaurant then it will rocket up the charts quicker than a Wall Street broker chasing his secretary. If he unsheathes his poison pen then the restaurant owners will be spending their days in the serving line of the local soup kitchen. The clicking of key strikes is like a symphony to Francis Le Mangez. Today he is happy and full. "The soup was a delight and made me want to weep with joy. The Singe Café's, famous, monkey flambé, in a white wine sauce, tasted as if it had been prepared by angels and I savored each bite. If you go out for monkey only once this year, make it the 'Singe Café'."

Francis had an office across from Henry. Henry liked Francis and they would occasionally discuss food, politics and baseball, while throwing back highballs at the bar on the corner. Francis was a food snob, but he could also appreciate a greasy burger and a beer. As Henry put the key in his office door, Francis popped his head out, and said, "Your cop friend was here looking for you. I took a message."
He was, "What was the message?"

"Tell Henry to call me as soon as he gets back." said Francis, as he handed the tiny piece of paper to Henry, with a pretentious scowl. Francis and Mike McDermott didn't get along.

"Thanks", said Henry, "Eat anything good lately?"

"I had a wonderful dinner at The Singe Café on 17th street last night. I am writing it up now." He said, and whirled around and disappeared into his office.

Henry walked into the Wood Detective agency and put his hat on the hook by the door. He took off his overcoat and hung it next to the hat. He sat behind his desk, put his feet up and looked at the pencil. The numbers, so neatly written, were a message. He felt it was a message specifically to him, but he didn't know what it was, or what he was supposed to do.

He picked up the phone and called Mike. Mike McDermott had been in law enforcement for as long as Henry could remember. He solved more cases than anyone in the 5 boroughs, by using his razor sharp analytical mind, and sometimes a massive right hook. Mike loved chess and music. He had every recording of Enrico Caurso. He also enjoyed gardening and had an encyclopedic knowledge of root vegetables. When he was young, his nickname was 'Yam'. He was called 'yam' until a couple of fights and a growth spurt between his 9th and 10th grade years. After that he was called 'Big Mike'. Henry just called him Mike. Mike McDermott didn't have any use for private dicks, but he liked Henry.

The phone rang once and the voice on the other end bellowed, "Mike here…go."

"Mike, Henry here, I heard you were looking for me."

"So Frenchy gave you my message. I am surprised."

"He isn't so bad you know."

An audible grunt came over the line and Mike continued, "Word on the street is that you are poking around Smith, Havershome and Blickstein Law firm."

"So what if I am?" Henry played it cool. He didn't want to tip his hand. He actually didn't even know what cards he was holding, but he figured if Big Mike had gotten wind, then something must be up.

"Listen Wood, This is serious business you are sticking your nose into. If you know anything, you best come clean, before you get hurt." Mike said with an intimidating tone.

"You threatening me Mike?"

"Not me, but there are some dangerous people involved. I am trying to look after you." He replied with a friendlier tone.

"Dangerous people eh?" Henry said, trying to sound confident and hoping Mike would give him a clue as to what was going on. Henry needed a clue.

"I'm talking about the mob. The word is that some accountant has gone missing and they are anxious to find him. He knows things, things that could make a lot of people really unhappy."

"Thanks for the heads up. I will try to keep my head down." Henry said, and hung up the phone.

Henry was unsure of his next move and decided to head home. When he checked his magic closet he found that there was another gift from the future. A plastic case with a silver disk in it and a thing called a DVD player with a tiny screen that looked sort of like a television. The DVD was entitled simply, "Tage Frid", and it appeared it had come from 1997, as that was the copyright date on the back. Henry was delighted with his gift from the mysterious closet and when the screen came to life he marveled at the picture. It was in color.
Tage Frid came from Denmark in 1948, "after a couple of thousand students, I learned a few things" came from the tiny speakers, and after 75 minutes he had witnessed the charming old man teach him how he cuts dovetails, fixes a mistake, builds a drawer for a perfect fit, glues up pieces and his thought process in design. Tage Frid puts to use a jig he built 30 years ago. Henry quite liked the Danish woodworker's style. He thought about the DVD and that it was made 40 years in the future, about a man who was old, but today, in 1955, Tage Frid is a young man, who just arrived in the US a few years ago. Henry watched the DVD twice and marveled at the beauty of his furniture. He hoped that the closet would send him more of these DVDs, as they were very entertaining. He wished he could show someone his new toy, but he never told anyone about the time portal in his closet, for he feared that if he did, it just might disappear.

Henry wondered what Francis would say, what sort of review he would give this Tage Frid show. Henry knew that his recommendation would be 5 stars. He carefully put the DVD back in its case and put it and the player in a drawer under a blanket. He went to bed, thinking about Tage Frid furniture, and thinking about the numbers, 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, and 23.
 
#386 ·
Thanks Everyone



Historically it could be said that I have been known to jump into a new interest elbows first. Obviously feet first is the conventional method, but I figure people expect that, so I lead with my elbow and on occasion my clavicle. Yes I have jumped into woodworking clavicle first. I had no idea that when I splashed in neck deep into this new hobby that I would find the joy of blogging too. I really only intended to write that first post.
External validation is a powerful aphrodisiac. Everyone has been so friendly, which isn't surprising to me, as I am a firm believer that most people are pretty decent. What I didn't expect is that there were so many other people sharing their experiences with the world. There are lots and lots of blogs.

Today is my one month anniversary as a blogopotamus. I thought that I might share, with those who have been so kind to endure my daily streams of ridiculousness, some of my numbers. Frankly they are so shocking to me, that I find it hard to believe. I feel like I have hoisted up the basketball of blogging and swished it from center court.



I have scribbled out thirty one consecutive posts and considering that my original goal was to have a streak of one, I count this as a success. I am a big fan of setting the bar low. I was great at the high jump, while the bar was still lying on the ground, of course I later carved a small trough in the field for the pole, just to be sure, but I digress. In one month, the combined number of reads between Lumberjocks and my blog has been around 21,000, with 10085 of the reads being the fine folks who hang out at Lumberjocks, and at least one of their wives, who, on occasion, will pretend to be her husband and once posed as her husband's cat. I am not sure if the cat is a reader or not, but I would like to think he checks the blog out when nobody is looking.

So yes, there has been easily 2000 pounds of external validation. Strange as it may seem that has not been the best part. The best part has been using all the little tips and tricks I have gotten from comments, articles and other blogs. My confidence level is so much higher than it was when the year began. My circular saw and router are less scary. I still respect them and always call them Sir, lest they become angry and try to get me. But it seems we have an understanding, if I treat them well, clean them off after every use, and give them a cookie, they will perform marvelously.

Now before I pull a muscle patting myself on the back for the numbers, I should let everyone know about the wonderful blogs I have uncovered. You may already know these, but if you don't, then go check them out. It will be time well spent. (All the links are on my Blog Roll, so please check them out.)

1) 'The Village Carpenter' and is written by Kari Hultman. She is such a good writer, photographer, and a spectacular woodworker. She left a comment on one of my blogs and I was giddy for hours.

2) This is a fantastic blog, which I am sure you have all found, but just in case, it is called 'The Wood Whisperer' and is much better than the blog the 'The Tree Shouter at the top of His Lungs.' Ok, I made up that second blog. But the point is that his blog is a one stop shop for wood smarts.

3) 'The Unplugged Woodshop' wins the award for best site design. The writing is fantastic too, the projects fill one with inspiration, and the photography is magazine quality.

I have also made some friends on Twitter, who like woodworking. My Twitter handle is ExtremelyAvg and I have had the pleasure of meeting 85 people who are mostly fans of woodworking. If you haven't tried using Twitter for woodworking knowledge you have missed out. The tweets are chuck full of links to stuff that I wouldn't have found.

Some of my Twitter friends, who I would recommend following are: ScottAtMirus, AdamKingStudio, eXapath, iwoodknot, Torch02 Most have blogs too and are worth checking out.
So in conclusion, I want to express my sincere appreciation to everyone who has commented and encouraged me, and to those who have taken the time to blog from their knowledge base, and share it with the world.



Tomorrow I will continue with the adventures of Henry Wood. And after that I will write ever day, unless an emergency golf outing is declared, in that case, Dad and I will be on the tee. I am really ready for spring, the novelty of snow and cold has worn off. Thanks again.
 
#407 ·
Henry Wood Detective Agency_Tuesday



The next day Henry arrived at his office bright and early. Francis wasn't in yet, as he preferred to roll out of bed at the crack of noon. It was quiet and Henry took out the pencil and a pad of paper. He looked at the pencil again and then used it to write down 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, and 23. He added the number s up and they equaled 41. Next he assigned each number a letter, a, b, c, e, g, y. Leaning back he pondered his first two attempts, scratched his head, and dismissed them.

Twenty minutes and three more dismissed theories later, the sound of heels on the hardwood hallway floor caught Henry's attention. He was a bit of an expert on the gait of people. He could tell when it was Francis, he could tell when Big Mike was coming, and he could tell that it was a woman who strode with confidence. The door opened. She stood there momentarily, as if to say, I am here, take me in, I am marvelous. Wearing a Dior dress she had a figure that made an hour glass self conscious and she knew it. She walked in and set her tiny purse on the corner of the desk and asked, "Are you Henry Wood?" in a voice that was dark and hypnotic.

With a nod Henry motioned to the chair. She sat down and crossed her legs. Boy could she cross a leg. Henry got up and checked the thermostat. "It seems you have me at a disadvantage?"

"I am Miss Culberson. I need your help and your discretion."

"What exactly do you need help with?"

"My father recently passed away…" she said with a pause for a respect full sigh.

"I am sorry" Henry said.

"It is ok, it has been a month now, I have grown accustom to the emptiness of the house. The reason I need your help, is that there are some issues with the estate."

"Issues?" Henry said with the voice he reserved for those occasions when he knew he was being fed a line, but didn't want the feeder to know. It was slightly lower with just a smidgeon of empathy.

"Mr. Wood, my father may have occasionally been creative with his books, but he was a good man. There is a man at the law firm we use, who seems to have it out for my father and now me."

"Which firm is that?"

"Smith, Havershome and Blickstein in town and the man is Mr. Alexander, I think he is an accountant or something." She said, with a casualness that was a bit too casual. Henry considered taking offense at her remark about Manhattan being 'in town', as if Brooklyn wasn't, but her legs were really well crossed.

"Why do you think he is out to get you?" Henry asked while trying not to look at her legs and intrigued that yet another person is looking for Mr. Alexander.

"He has been keeping a journal."

"An accounting journal, being kept by an accountant that seems pretty standard, wouldn't you say?" Henry said, hoping to pry something out of her.

"I believe he had found some irregularities in my father's books, some tiny little omissions, and he wants to ruin my father's good name and me in the process." She said with another, albeit sadder sigh. Apparently the thought of losing her inheritance was worse than losing her father.

"Why don't you just go to the partners and ask them to straighten him out? Surely they wouldn't want to lose you as a client." Henry asked, knowing that she would have a polished and prepared answer, but he liked to hear her talk.

"They don't know where he is. It seems he didn't show up for work yesterday. I need you to find him and get that Journal!" She said, this time, with an air of entitlement.

"What makes you think I can find him?"

"I have been told that you are looking for him already. I just ask that when you find him, you bring the journal to me. I will pay you five thousand dollars. Here is half now and half when you deliver." She said and stood, handing Henry a plain envelope, grabbed her purse and left.

Now he had one job, two clients, and six crazy numbers. The rest of the morning consisted of a trip to the diner for a cup of joe and lots of dead end ideas regarding the pencil clue. Shortly after noon, Francis was coming down the hall with his buddy Don, a photographer at the Brooklyn Daily News. Henry popped his head out and said, "Hello Gents, any good news today?"

"Is there ever?" scoffed Don. He spent most nights prowling the streets looking for seedy scoops. Francis just shrugged.
"Hey let me you ask you guys something?" Henry nodded towards his office.

"Sure Ace" what is it. Don called Henry and everyone else Ace. He was bad with names.

Francis, Don and Henry filed back into the office and Henry read off the numbers. Francis shrugged again. If he couldn't eat it, he just did care. Don said, "They are all prime numbers."

"I hadn't noticed that." Henry said, giving Don a nod of appreciation.

Don looked at the pencil and mused, "I wonder why there are 4 missing primes?"

The confused look on Henry's face, told Don he should elaborate. "11, 13, 17 and 19, are between 7 and 23."

"There are 4 missing numbers." Henry said out loud, but mostly to himself. "I wonder…" and his voice trailed off.

Don and Francis could tell that Henry's wheels were turning so they headed across the hall. Henry needed some wood time, so he grabbed his overcoat and hat and headed home.

When he got there the closet was empty, as it was most days. He took a piece of oak and rubbed his hand over it. What would this be good for? Henry thought to himself. He grabbed a ruler and a non-clue pencil and made some marks. The wheels were still turning.

The little piece of wood seemed to want to be turned into a tool holding device. Henry wanted to use the rare earth magnets he had bought some time ago, so he decided he would combine them with the oak and hang it on the wall. He carefully marked out the spots. He would use his Fostner bits, to drill out holes for the magnets. A quick practice hole in a piece of scrap and he was ready. The seven holes drilled out easily. Henry screwed in a magnet holder and was inches from plopping in a magnet when he realized that once it was in, he wouldn't be able to get it out. Those suckers really stick together and the screw would have been hidden under the magnet. It was almost a blunder, but his brain was thinking several steps ahead, just like Mr. Alexander seemed to be doing.



Henry sanded the board for an hour and now was considering if he should stain it. He had some General Finishes Georgian Cherry Gel Stain that had mysteriously appeared in the closet. He wasn't sure exactly how to use it, so he decided to think about it for a day or so.
Like a bolt of lightning out of a clear blue sky the number 17 jumped out at him. He felt like the fog was slowly clearing. He was suddenly overcome with hunger and set out to find some dinner.

He sat down at the kitchen table and pondered out loud, "Mr. Alexander knew I would go to his office. He knew I would notice the pencil. He is a cautious and meticulous man. He wouldn't just write down the clue. He would hide the clue." Henry was now convinced that the real clue was 11, 13, 17 and 19.
 
#425 ·
Henry Wood Detective Agency: Wednesday



The day had been long. Henry's flash of genius was looking more like a flash of imbecile. Henry had remembered that Francis was working on a story about a restaurant on 17th street. He was sure that the missing numbers were an address. A map, a list, and 12 hours driving around the 5 boroughs, had been less than promising. He was sure that there would be another clue, something that wouldn't be obvious to most, but would jump out at him. Maybe he wasn't as clever as he thought.

Doubt had crept into the equation. A couple of dozen stops and nothing, well he had found an address across from a great tool store. He popped in and there were a bunch of guys watching a demo of jigs and accessories for making woodworking easier. His favorite was a clever device which would aid in making wooden hinges. Henry knew that if he couldn't stay too long, he noted the address so he could find it again, and continued on his way. With only one address remaining the possibility entered his mind that 11, 13, 17 and 19 may not have been the clue at all, maybe he should reconsider the original numbers.

His car rolled up outside 1113 17th, an apartment building in the warehouse district. There was a bit of a chill in the air. Henry walked up the steps and into the building. He glanced at the mail boxes. When his eyes landed on apartment 19, and he read the name, he almost stopped breathing, Tage Frid. Henry didn't have time to ponder the implications of his DVD from the future and his current case; he just knew that coincidences like this were never coincidences. He stood for a moment outside apartment 19. He thought about the wonderful furniture created by this man. A deep breath and then he knocked. No sound. He knocked again and nothing, not even a peep, so Henry slowly turned the knob. It was locked.

Henry looked around, nobody in the hall, so he quickly picked the lock. He leaned his head into the apartment and was both disappointed and sure he was in the right spot. When he saw the name on the box, he figured that the real Tage Frid might be waiting to give him a message, or maybe Mr. Alexander was staying with him. What he found instead was an empty apartment. It wasn't just empty; the vastness of the empty was stunning, and obviously the work of a meticulous man. Henry couldn't find as much as a speck of dust. He looked in the cabinets and they were bare.

Pacing back and forth didn't seem to help. It was getting dark and Henry was tired. What was the clue? What did the emptiness mean? He took out the drawers in the kitchen. He looked behind the ice box. He even checked in the vents. "Focus" he thought to himself. Henry walked to the window and looked out. Across the street was a warehouse. It did strike Henry as interesting that it was a furniture warehouse. Henry wondered what type of furniture they stored.



The street was empty. There were a few lights on in the warehouse, but it seemed as if most people had already left for the day. Henry tried the door, it was locked. He decided to look in the window. There was a lot of furniture. Bedroom sets, kitchen tables, chairs, and lamps for as far as the eye could see. Henry's eye went to one piece. A cabinet, a Tage Frid cabinet, was sitting against the far wall. Henry decided he had done enough breaking and entering for the day. Sometimes it is easier to just wait until regular business hours, than to be super sneaky, plus he was hungry and tired.



He swung by John's deli on the way home and picked up a couple of sandwiches. After dinner he decided to give his magnetic tool holder a bit of color. This was his first attempt at staining anything. He sanded a practice piece of oak and tried it. Since there weren't any disasters he grabbed the tool holder and went at it. Henry didn't have any idea about technique and simply lathered it on with the wooden paint stirrer. As soon as he had one side done, he wiped it off. It only took a few minutes to get the entire board covered. The gloves he wore were pretty messy and leaving marks, so he changed them for a new pair, and wiped every inch one more time, and then set it down to dry. It looked better than he had hoped for. He preferred to take black and white shots, but he had a roll of Ektachrome and decided it to go with color today. Tomorrow he would revisit the furniture store and try to figure out where to hang his new tool rack.

 
#439 ·
Henry Wood Detective Agency_Thursday Morning



Henry woke up early and couldn't get back to sleep. The furniture warehouse didn't open until 8 am, but the clock said it was 3 am. He had been asleep for 4 hours. He laid there for another hour and decided he might as well get an early start. An egg sandwich, cup of joe at the diner, and some pleasant conversation with Mable; the sassy little waitress and he had killed an hour. He rolled into the office at around 6:30 and made a list.

Call Luna and ask if she has heard from her father and bring her up to date.
Call Miss Culberson and tell her as little as possible. Henry didn't trust her at all.
Buy groceries and some 1×2's in maple. Henry hadn't done any shopping in a while and his cupboards were looking as bare as 1113 17th street.

And lastly and most importantly, check out the furniture warehouse and the Frid cabinet.
He tore the list off his pad and folded it neatly before putting it in his jacket pocket. Henry smiled at himself; he couldn't remember ever folding anything neatly. Mr. Alexander seemed to be rubbing off on him. He picked up the phone and 15 minutes later had updated Miss Alexander and reassured Miss Culberson that he was hot on the trail of a clue.



He walked down stair and out onto the street. His car was parked in the alley. The street was now busy with morning hustle and bustle. Henry could smell trouble at 100 paces. They sat in their car, reading the paper, but not turning the pages, just holding them there, it was a dead giveaway. There was a third thug leaning against a lamp post, also not reading a newspaper. Henry decided that they could tail him for a while. He would go poke around the lumber yard, buy what he needed and then lose them.

He found some nice hard maple 1×2's and picked up four 7 foot lengths and bunch of screws, washers, and other miscellaneous items. He loved the lumber yard. It was a big place almost maze like. He knew everyone there and when he went up to the counter he whispered to the manager, "Hey Bill, could you put this stuff on my tab? I need to lose my friends. I will pick it up later." Then at normal voice, "Oh wait, I forgot something." And he whirled around and headed back into the yard. The thugs followed, trying to look casual. Henry made a couple of quick turns and then up some stairs and into the manager's office, which had a convenient back door. He winked at Bill's secretary as he strolled past. She smiled. The thugs got back outside in time to see the tail lights rounding the corner two blocks away.

Henry took a circuitous route to the furniture warehouse, just to be safe. After some words with the man in charge, he was allowed to take a look at the cabinet. He opened the cabinet it was empty. He looked into the drawers and admired the dovetail joints. Each drawer was carefully removed and each one was magnificent, but held no clues. The old man who had showed Henry to the chest asked what he was looking for, and Henry explained that he thought there might be a message from a friend. The old man wasn't one of those people who suffered from being curious and just shrugged.

"This cabinet does have a secret drawer." And he carefully showed Henry how it opened.

"That is incredible; I would have never found that." He said in awe.

"That is why it is called a 'secret drawer'." said the old man with a wink and a smile.

Henry pulled it open slowly and there it was, the journal that Miss Culberson was after.

"Would you look at that? It wasn't there before. I guess your friend did leave you a message."

"I guess he did." said Henry with a grin, a wink and a nod. He didn't open the journal past the first page; he saw the meticulous handwriting and knew that it was the work of Mr. Alexander. He just tucked it into his jacket and thanked the old man, slipping him a twenty, to forget that he had been there. Henry decided it wasn't safe to go back to his office and he wasn't sure about the lumber yard, so he went to the library. He could bury himself in the stacks and give the journal the once over.

Henry took out his neatly folded list and turned it over. Page by page he slowly looked over all the entries. There weren't any names, and the numbers didn't make any sense at all. With each turn He found page after page of neatly written and obviously coded financial data. When he turned the last page, there was a note, neatly taped onto the back of the last page.

Dear Henry,

You are as clever as I had hoped. It will soon be noticed that I am missing. I cannot tell you where I will be when you find this. I myself don't know. I just know that the little book you are holding has all the financials to put a very powerful and dangerous man behind bars for the rest of his life.
I went to the police and told them everything just before Christmas. This was a mistake and I should have known better. It has gotten out that somebody at the firm was going to turn states evidence. They didn't know who it was at first, but as soon as I don't show up for work, they will put two and two together. I gave Luna instructions to find you, if I ever stopped coming home. You need to make sure she is safe.

I can't come out of hiding to testify as he has men everywhere. I need you to get this journal to the district attorney. After you do, I will need you to find the key, so that the book can be decoded. It is too risky to keep them together. Once the DA has both of them, he should have all he needs.

Thanks

A

Henry was suddenly worried about Luna. He hid the journal among the books at the library. He knew every floor and ever section of the library. The section on economic theory was generally ignored by the reading public, so he slid the journal behind several volumes by David Ricardo. He skipped lunch and drove straight out to see Luna. Suddenly he worried that the thugs he had shaken, might have gone their next. He couldn't worry about the groceries, or lumber, or woodworking, he had to find her and get her to a safe place. He just hoped he wasn't too late.
 
#451 ·
Henry Wood Detective Agency



The falling snow painted a layer of clean on the city. Henry didn't have time to take in the loveliness of it all. He did notice the two children holding hands and spinning around, mouths open, laughing as they drank in the flakes. Their parents watched with the pride. He assumed they were tourists from Florida, real New Yorkers, just hunkered down and got on with their day.

Henry walked down the street towards his car. He had his eyes open for the thugs, though he couldn't imagine that they would have guessed where he was heading. His pace was brisk, but not so much so, that it looked out of place. It was still early enough that rush hour hadn't started, so Henry expected that he might be able to get out of the city without too much fuss. He was right. He headed north and ninety minutes later he was pulling up the lane at the Alexander house. It was a modest, but elegant place, set back in the woods.

Henry's tracks were the only ones in the snow. He felt a bit better. He still couldn't be sure though. All he knew for sure is that nobody had driven up the dive in the last hour or so. There didn't seem to be any lights on. He got out of the car, turned up his collar, and with one hand on his hat, used the other to knock. He waited. No sound, no movement, just silence and the feeling of dread welling up deep inside of him. He knocked louder. When he began pounding his fists on the door, his mind was racing, and fear was replacing the dread.

There wasn't any sound, no wind, no storm, just the millions of flakes streaming down, narrowing the world to a space of about 20 feet. If it got any worse, Henry wouldn't even be able to see his car. He didn't know what he should do next. The barely audible creek of the door handle was deafening. Harry spun around to see the door open just enough for him to see two eyes peering out. As soon as Luna saw who it was, she flung the door open and yelped, "Henry". He was so relieved. She waved for him to come in and as soon as he crossed the threshold, she threw her arms around him.

"Henry! I have been so alone and afraid. I am so glad you are here. Have you found daddy?"

Henry returned the hug. He couldn't help but notice how warm she was and how nice it felt to hold her. It was a good hug. "I haven't found him yet, but I have found another clue. I will tell you all about it. But right now we need to leave."

"In this storm?" she said, looking up at him. Her eyes were warm, but there was a bit of fear around the edges.

"Yes, I am afraid so. I have a house. Nobody knows about it. My neighbors don't know who I really am. It is a good place. You will be safe there.

"I feel safe with you." She hugged him again.

"Ok, now go pack a bag. Do it quickly, the storm is not going to let up, and we need to get on our way."

Henry watched her walk up the stairs and he stood in front of the fire to knock the chill off. He was trying to think one step ahead. It seemed like a run of good luck that nobody had gone after Luna yet. He wondered if they were on their way. He put out the fire after lighting a couple candles. Luna had been napping on the couch. He folded the blanket and put it on the arm of the sofa. Henry walked to the front door and peered out the window. He could barely see the car. He heard Lulu coming down the stairs when he saw the headlights. He stepped away from the window, and instinctively felt for the six shot cobra under his jacket. He didn't want to get in a shoot out though. He was certain that they would have a lot more firepower. Their car pulled up behind Henrys. Henry grinned and put the chain across the door.
He whispered to Luna, "There are some dangerous people outside. Soon they will be inside. We need another way out?"

"Who's out there?" She sounded frightened.

"I will tell you when we are safe. Now where are the doors?"

There was a pounding at the front door, someone was trying the handle.

"There is a back door to the patio, and the side door by the kitchen."

"Side door will do." Henry said, taking her by the hand.

It was dark inside; there were only the candles that Henry had lit. The door erupted as one of the thugs kicked it open. As soon as he heard the front door being kicked in, Henry opened the side door in the kitchen, and he and Luna were out into the storm.

Inside the thugs were spreading out. One had run upstairs; the other was checking the cellar, while the third one was in the family room and heading towards the kitchen. Luna rushed to the passenger side and Henry stopped long enough to shoot out both the tires on the left side of the other car. He hopped into the car and fired it up. His car didn't do great on the snow, but it would do better than one with two flat tires car. They were gone before the thugs made it back outside.

Over the next two hours they crept back to Henry's place, he had explained how he had found the journal and told her about the trouble her father was in at the firm. When they got home, Luna was tired and looked like she was about to drop. Henry grabbed her bag and showed her inside. A quick tour ended at the bedroom and Henry grabbed a blanket and pillow. He would sleep on the couch. Normally she would have objected, but she was too tired. Henry said he would be downstairs if she needed anything.

Twenty minutes later Henry had pulled out some 1×2 maple he had lying around. He hadn't gotten back to the lumber yard, so he would just have to use some scraps to make something. He didn't care what he made, he just needed to create. He had seen an article by George Johnson of Canton Oklahoma, where George had made a set of adjustable panel cauls. He measured each one carefully and then used his Japanese hand saw to cut them. The spacers for the cauls needed to be one and one half inches, and he needed 12 of them. The hand saw worked fine for those as well. He was really happy with how good he was getting with hand tools.



Henry was really in the zone, he didn't even notice Luna sitting on the stair watching. She had her hair pulled back, wore a big wool sweater, and had her legs pulled up to her chest. She was a tiny ball of quiet, but she felt safe. Henry's precision and attention to detail reminded her of her father. She thought about him. She wondered where he was and if he was ok.



Henry finished the half of the first caul when he looked up and saw her sitting there. She was peeking out over her knees. He saw the corner of her eyes go up and he knew she was smiling. "Are you hungry?" he asked.



She nodded.

"Do you like Chinese?" He said, walking around to the stairs.

"I love Chinese food, but can we get it, with the storm?" Luna said, poking her head up over her knees.

"Mr. Wong fears nothing! And it is only 2 blocks. So I think we are ok." Henry said with a wink. Luna gave a little clap.

They ate and talked. Luna fell asleep on the couch; Henry pulled the blanket up over her shoulder and then got a blanket for himself. A few minutes later he was asleep in the chair next to the couch.
 
#466 ·
Henry Wood Detective Agency: Bad News



The note simply said, "Went to the store for bacon, eggs, juice, and bread." Luna wiped the sleep out of her eyes and looked around. The house was small but cozy. She hadn't paid much attention the night before; she was too overwhelmed. On one wall was half a dozen photos of Washington DC. They were nicely framed and were quite nice. The other walls were mostly covered by book shelves. She ran her finger along the spines and read some of the titles, "Candide", "Father's and Children", a collection of short stories by Rudyard Kipling, a book of haiku, and various tomes on chess.

She went into the bathroom and splashed some water on her face. The sound of the front door startled her, but she immediately heard Henry calling out. Henry had also picked up the morning paper, the headline was disturbing, and he wasn't sure if she was ready. He hid it behind the credenza and headed into the kitchen. He heard the sink running in bathroom as he unpacked the groceries. Henry was an extraordinarily average cook, mostly he could keep himself alive, but he did make a pretty good breakfast. He hoped she liked bacon and eggs, and thought to himself, "Everyone likes bacon and eggs!"

Luna walked into the kitchen and said, "That smells delightful. Here let me help." She took the spatula out of Henry's hand and took over. He wasn't use to being taken care of, and it made him a little bit uncomfortable, but she looked really happy, so he sat down at the kitchen table, trying not to think about the paper.

"Luna, you really don't need to do that, I can make breakfast." Henry said.

"You aren't used to being taken care of, are you?" Luna said with a little smile, and then continued, "Why haven't you found yourself a Mrs. Wood?"

Henry chuckled. He could tell she was feeling much better after a good night's sleep. He liked seeing her like this. He also felt that a subject change was a good idea. "So, how long have you been working at the bakery?"

Her eyes got big, "I love baking, cooking is fun, but making cookies and cakes is the most wonderful thing in the world. I have been there for about 10 years. I make the best chocolate chip cookies in the world." She said, sticking out her chest as she pointed to herself with her thumb. "Since I came to see you, I haven't been into work though. I have been too worried." Suddenly she was sad again.

Henry thought another subject change was in order. "What else do you like to do?"
She flipped the bacon over and cocked her head to the side, "I like books. I like books a bunch, they are swell. I have a degree in literature from Oberlin College. Did you know that the first woman to ever attend college went to Oberlin?"

"I didn't know that."

"Her name was Lucy Stone and she graduated in 1847. I wrote a paper about her relationship with Susan B. Anthony. It got an A."

"I bet it did. Do you like to write?" Henry asked, seeing that her mood was on the upswing again.

Luna cracked an egg into the skillet. It didn't even look like she was thinking about it, she was a machine in the kitchen. Henry just sat and watched her precise movements; it must be an Alexander trait. Another egg hit the skillet and she said, "I do like to write. I keep a journal and I write some stories, but I would never want to be a writer."

"Oh, why is that?"

"Because when you get done writing a story, you can't eat it!" She said giggling.

Henry laughed too.

They sat at the table and ate breakfast, telling stories and laughing about Henry's college days. He had a thousand stories and she loved them. Her days at Oberlin were much tamer. Henry was exciting and he made her feel safe.



Henry told her that he was almost done with his cauls, and asked if she would like to come downstairs while he finished them. She said she would be down after the dishes. Henry tried to object, but she would have none of it, and sent him down to the basement to play.

When Luna came downstairs she sat next to the workbench and asked him about his project. Henry loved talking about woodworking, and wasn't ready to tell her about the Headline. "Cauls are helpful in gluing up boards. You apply the glue to the edges, lay some wax paper over both sides, clamp them lightly together, and then put a caul over each end." He said, while he sanded a small block of wood, and continued, "Once you tighten it down, they keep the boards from popping up when you tighten the clamps, and the wax paper keeps the glue from sticking to the caul."

"That is quite clever. I use wax paper for cooking." She said, and then asked, "How did you learn how to build a caul?"

"I read an article in a magazine. It described what I needed." He answered, and then proceeded to list off the components, "8 pieces of 2 inch maple, cut to 36 inches long, and twelve 2 inch by 3 inch spacer block, plus some 5 inch bolts and knobs."

"They look lovely."

"Thanks, the directions didn't call for it, but I spent a lot of time sanding each piece, so it will feel nice and I won't get splinters." He said with pride.

The rest of the morning was spent talking in the basement. Henry didn't know that Big Mike was looking for him. He didn't know that his phone at his apartment in the city had been ringing off the hook. He didn't know about the fire.
 
#473 ·
Henry Wood Detective Agency: Tommy 'The Knife'



Henry took a couple of pictures of the cauls. He told Luna that he needed to head into his office and made her promise not to leave the house. She said she would read a book. Henry took the paper with him, he turned on the shower, and only then did he read the 'Big News'

The headline read 'Missing'.

An accountant with the prominent Manhattan law firm of Smith, Havershome and Blickstein is missing, and the Police commissioner Jonathan O'Rourke has indicated that the entire department is scouring the city. Mr. Alexander is wanted in connection with the racketeering and money laundering case against famous mobster Tommy 'The Knife'. He has crucial evidence in the case and the commissioner has asked the entire community to be on the lookout for the missing accountant.



The article went on to provide a bunch of conjecture regarding the case, most of which wasn't at all accurate, but did fill out a fairly thin story. At least now, Henry knew which mobster was after Mr. Alexander. Tommy 'The Knife' was a ruthless thug who preferred to use a barber's straight edge to a gun. He had risen up through the ranks by collecting for the most powerful loan shark in the city and now ran a veritable army, made up of the dregs of society. Henry took a shower and shaved. He told Luna that he was off to the office and made her promise to stay inside, again. She did.

The snow had ceased to fall. The streets were wet, but traffic was light, as most had taken off work and stayed home. The drive was easy and Henry's thoughts turned to the case. What could be the next clue? He thought about the journal. He needed to get it to the DA, but first he wanted to go to the office and see if anyone had been around to see him. He also wanted to go meet Miss Culberson, as it appears the Journal doesn't have anything to do with her father, and he wanted to find out who put her up to hiring him.
Henry parked his car in the alley down the street from his building. He rounded the corner and immediately saw the crowd gathered around the front of the charred building that used to hold his office. He didn't stop to ask what had happened. He knew the answer. He went to his apartment, which was only 5 blocks away. He kept the apartment in the city as his official residence. Henry made sure that he spent at least one night a week in the place, just to keep up appearances.

He was careful. He used the back entrance. There wasn't anyone around. The back stairs were empty, but Henry was extra careful. He listened for anything out of the ordinary. It was quiet, except for the baby crying in 5B. When he stepped onto the landing he didn't see anyone. Henry pressed his ear carefully against the door and again he heard nothing, not so much as a mouse in the house. It turned out that there weren't any mice, only rats. He opened the door and walked in. The door closed behind him.

"Mr. Wood, you owe me two tires." came from the man sitting in his comfy chair.

Before Henry could come up with a clever response, the man to his right, welcomed him with a sock to the gut.

"It seems youz been sticking your nose where it don't belong, Mr. Wood." said the man in the chair.

Henry was about to say answer, when he got another greeting to the midsection.

"You tell your buddy Big Mike that he messed with the wrong guy. If he wants a war then we will give him one."

The thug behind Henry brought something down on the back of Henry's head and he dropped to the floor.

The knocking at the door caused Henry to come to. He moaned and said, "Come in."

Big Mike walked in as Henry was trying to sit up. He looked around the apartment. "They tossed your place pretty good, eh buddy?"

"I was thinking of having a decorator in anyway." Henry said.

"I told you that they were some bad guys." said Mike, while helping his friend to his feet, and continued, "Maybe you best tell your buddy what you have been up to?"

Henry and Mike turned the kitchen table back upright and got a couple of chairs. He grabbed the bottle of bourbon from the counter and two glasses. "Was there anybody hurt in the fire?" Henry asked.

"No, it must have started around 3 am; we don't know the cause yet. You think it was your new friends?" Mike asked.

"I don't believe in coincidences." Henry threw back the shot.

"Now what have you found out, that has gotten Tommy's people on your back?" Mike asked as he poured Henry another one. Henry filled in Mike on the details, including the message they left for him. Mike promised to look into Miss Culberson for Henry. Henry told Mike about the journal and explained that he had it hidden and that they needed to get it to the DA. They each had another shot and sat without saying a word.
 
#485 ·
Creating the Cauls



In Vol 28, No. 164, on page 6 of Woodsmith magazine is the article which describes the Adjustable Panels Cauls. It was sent in by George Johnson of Canton Oklahoma. They give the dimensions and I followed them somewhat closely. I visited my local Home Depot to buy the goodies I would need to make my cauls. I purchased (4) seven feet long, 1×2, in hard maple. I like hard maple. I also purchased (4) 36 inches long ½ x 3 inch pieces of Oak. I only needed one piece of the oak, but I wanted the other pieces for another project. So only buy 1 if you don't want extra, and to be honest, I didn't use the entire one piece either, I only used 18 inches.

As for the hardware, I came very close to making a tightening handle blunder, when I nearly bought a handle with the male threaded rod attached. This would have been a mistake. The handles need to be female which allow the threaded part of the 5/16th carriage bolt to pass through. Which brings me to the quantities of stuff I needed, the plans required 4 handles, 4 washers (I bought 8 to allow for losing a few), (24) #8, 1 ¾ "flat head screws (I bought a box). I also bought a box of 1 1/4" flat head screw, because I didn't believe the instructions. The 1 ¾ looked way too long. They were not too long and actually worked wonderfully.



Being new to woodworking, I lack confidence, so I bought extra stuff, which I didn't need. I then reinforced my fears when I purchased (3) 5" 5/16" carriage bolts and (1) 5 ½" carriage bolt. I blindly trusted the little bin that told me I was buying 5 inch, and it was very sneaky in giving me a 5 ½ bolt. I fixed the problem by buying (3) 5 ½" and (1) 5" the next day. So I have an extra set that will allow for thicker boards to be in my glue up. In the photos I used the 5 ½ inch bolt. I may buy some longer ones too. The reason one can't just buy really long bolts is that the threads don't go all the way down the bolt. If I had bought a 7 inch, I wouldn't have been able to tighten them all the way down.



So here is how I built my cauls. I cut (8) 36" pieces of hard maple, using my Japanese hand saw. I was amazed at how quickly it cut through each piece, and how beautiful the cuts turned out. It was definitely the right tool for the job.



I like sanding. I have read that many woodworkers don't like sanding their projects. It is considered drudgery. I took 2 pieces and clamped them into my vice and sanded the top to a nice rounded edge on the outside edges on the top side of the two pieces. My reasoning was, it was a waste of time to sand the inside edges, so I didn't. I also didn't sand the bottom edges, because I wanted them to remain flat. So I sanded up each pair. I used 80, 120, 220 grit paper and my mouse sander.

The next step was to cut off 1 ½"blocks from the piece of oak. My Japanese hand saw handled this task as well. The blocks are used as spacers between the pieces of hard maple. There are 3 spacers per caul piece (top and bottom) and created the gap that allows the carriage bolts to be threaded up through the top and bottom. It means that one is able to move the clamping handles in to the edges of the wood when clamping, to apply the most pressure onto the wood being glued up.

So with 12 pieces of oak cut, I stacked them together and sanded the tops, rounding the edges. This was done for aesthetics.

The next step was to screw everything together. I placed a spacer in the middle, at 18 inches and one on each end, set in 1 ½ inches from the edge. I have no idea why they weren't all the way out to the edge, but in the article, that is how George Johnson did it, and it looked good to me. I then flipped the pieces of wood upside down, with the rounded edges on the table, and placed my oak spacers in the correct positions. Next I clamped everything together, before drilling pilot holes. I then used a countersink bit to drill out a bit of space for the flat head screws to set into the wood. To make my life easier I got out both of my cordless drills, using one as a dedicated pilot holes driller and the other for the countersinking and the screwing in of the flat head screws. ( I am not sure all of the verbs in the last sentence really exist, but I digress)

Once all of this was done, I just needed to cut some blocks to hold the carriage bolts. The instructions called for 3 ½ inch blocks, but I had a lovely piece of hard maple that was 12 inches long, so I went with 3 inches for each block. Yes it was a daring move, but I am not afraid to live life on the edge. I sanded the 12 inch block before I made the cuts. I also drilled the holes, first with a Fostner bit, then with a regular bit. This meant that after I cut them into their 3 inch lengths, they were ready to go.



The last step was to check the flatness of the bottoms of each caul section. I had focused on making sure that the tops were flat, because I intended to flatten any that needed it, using my router. There was only one that needed flattening, so I used my 2 inch flush trim bit. It is a really nice bit, made by Amana. I spent $128.00 on this bit. That seems like a lot, but I have already used it a bunch of times. And it cuts like a hot knife through brie.

When I finally assembled the cauls, they looked even better than I had hoped. Now I just need to find a project that requires a glue up.
 
#486 ·
great tutorial , brian .

now you are on your way ,
to having your own hardware store too !

practicing as you go is a good concept ,
it leads to good work ethics ,
and focused work habits .
something that will pay dividends all along the journey !

well done !
 
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