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Deep Thoughts - Reader Beware

39K views 341 replies 76 participants last post by  chrisstef 
#1 ·
Mortises at 11PM

First, the caveat:

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about woodworking, trying to make sense of what it is that has always drawn me to it. I'm notorious for over-thinking, overanalyzing and basically spending too much energy navel-gazing. This blog is intended to get some of it out of my head. I'll be glib, sarcastic and flippant in my other posts. Who knows how this one will turn out. It may be a train wreck, so reader beware! If navel-gazing doesn't hold any appeal or distraction for you, move on. If you're allergic to estrogen, move away quickly.

My own personal rules are to not to spend more than 30 minutes on any one post. I can correct a mistake if I catch it right away, but can't go back. If I post it, I can't edit or delete. I tend to edit things to death and have been known to delete my posts before it's too late. (If you're reading this Monte - you caught me)

If anything resonates with you, feel free to chime in.


It's 9:22

My Nanny lived into her 90s and was a great old gal. Hard life is an understatement. She played hockey on the marshes in the 1930s wearing a long wool skirt. She married her husband and by all accounts, things went to sh
t after that. 7 kids, 2 died, husband left, no welfare, worked as a cleaning lady in the hospital. Working poor in a small city. My mom didn't have new shoes until high school.

By the time I knew her, she lived in an apartment. She smoked Benson and Hedges cigarettes, read Louis L'Amour novels, went to Bingo and quilted. She was a hoot. She taught me how to play poker, and when she took her morning medication she'd make some comment about taking her "burt control pills" because you never know who might show up. I tried to get her to teach me how to quilt. It didn't go well. She couldn't slow her hands down enough for me to follow what she was doing. I bought a book, figured it out and was off to the races. Queen sized quilt for my husband when we were married, one for my brother and his first wife, one for each of my children. Then I got too busy and haven't touched it since. I loved working with my hands and producing something, so quilting was enjoyable in that regard, but it didn't float my boat. I didn't go to bed and dream about paisley and wax philosophical about different fabrics.

I make bread. Bought a bread maker and hated it. I make it by hand, have made sourdough starters that sat in the back of the fridge, made artisan bread, used the steam method. I make it fairly regularly but it's fallen into the category of 'something I do as a mother and wife'. I feed my family. We eat crap fairly often, but for the most part we eat home cooked meals at the kitchen table. I've got one shot at raising my children and I take it very seriously.

I've scrapbooked. Gone to weekend 'scraps' bought tools, embellishments and did pages celebrating minutiae.
I was making something with my hands, and I still do some, but in a very scaled back way.

So what is it about wood? When the work/family/life thing gets crazy I tell my friends that I want to be a carpenter when I grow up. Or is wood going to be like the other 'hobbies'? Jump right in, by the tools, work away and then walk away? At this point I don't think so.

The gender issue is inescapable, but is a touchy topic. I can't pretend to understand all women, nor can I even to begin to understand men. For whatever reason, I've found men to be more straightforward. For the most part. If they don't like you, you know. If a woman doesn't like you, all her friends now and you're the last to figure it out. Now I want to delete this. Crap. Back to wood.

Last night I was cutting, or is it chiseling? mortises at 11pm. I was in my sock feet in the garage because I had just gone out to put something in the recycling bin. Then I just took a look at my first mortise, then I measured a few things again, looked at the plans, and the picked up a chisel just to put it away. I could have stayed in the garage all night, but knowing that I have to be a reasonably pleasant human being in the morning finally had me hit the hay. I went to sleep thinking about the mortises, how I cut the stretcher pieces for the workbench a bit narrow, and that maybe the shoulders of the tenon would be to0 narrow as a result, and how I should really check that in the morning and adjust the size of the mortises and tenons on that piece.

9:42 hmmm that went by quickly. That's the point I guess. When I'm working with wood, I don't notice the time flying by. I was using the chisels with a hammer wrapped up in an old facecloth because I don't have a whatchyacall it yet. The word will come to me. Mallet. That's it, I don't have a mallet yet. So I was figuring out how much easier it was to cut the sides of the mortise because I was cutting with the grain, and how different it was to cut across the grain. When my second mortise fit nicely I was thrilled. Beyond thrilled. My hubby is away (back tomorrow) but as supportive as he is, I really don't think he would have wanted to come out to the garage after midnight to appreciate that the tenon fit tightly and that the shoulders were flush with the board all around.

I guess that's today's deep thought - Nobody expects me to be good with wood. It's not on the list of things I must do to be a good mother, good wife, good employee, allround decent human. It's not an obligation and it's certainly not expected of my gender. Maybe that's what the appeal is. Who knows. I used to envy my brothers for going to Boy Scouts and doing 'cool' things like building fires and camping. In brownies we learned about the Queen mother. Not cool. So I guess that makes woodworking 'cool'.

9:52. I'm going to instantly regret posting this. AAAAAAAAGH
 
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#113 ·
Online friendship

First, the caveat:

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about woodworking, trying to make sense of what it is that has always drawn me to it. I'm notorious for over-thinking, overanalyzing and basically spending too much energy navel-gazing. This blog is intended to get some of it out of my head. I'll be glib, sarcastic and flippant in my other posts. Who knows how this one will turn out. It may be a train wreck, so reader beware! If navel-gazing doesn't hold any appeal or distraction for you, move on. If you're allergic to estrogen, move away quickly.

My own personal rules are to not to spend more than 30 minutes on any one post. I can correct a mistake if I catch it right away, but can't go back. If I post it, I can't edit or delete. I tend to edit things to death and have been known to delete my posts before it's too late.

If anything resonates with you, feel free to chime in.

10:53
Most of us have an image of a young male, living with his mother, spending his whole day in the basement shooting aliens on the computer and lying about himself online. None of us want to be that guy. But lately, I've found myself mentioning my online friends to my 'in person' friends and it feels a bit odd. And it's led to this latest late night rambling.

How could I possibly have friends I've never met and will likely not meet? And would I be friends with these people if I had met them in person first? For example, if I were at a woodworking expo and stood gazing at the Carter Stabilizer, would I end up discussing box joint jigs with Stumpy, and would I end up mailing him a dress? (yes, it's true. And he did wear it on an episode)

I am definitely a talker, and can strike up a conversation with just about anyone, so that wouldn't be an issue. It's highly likely I would in fact have a conversation with Stumpy, or Eddie, or Dave, or any of the other guys I now consider friends. But I certainly wouldn't ask for their numbers so that I could talk to them most evenings around this time. So plus one for online friendships, because you can connect without that whole "I'm just meeting her to show her how to adjust her bandsaw" conversation.

So what else? You would think that it would be more difficult to talk to someone online. Think about it. Whoever we talk to (and yes, I know it's supposed to be whom) can go back and re-read every conversation, comment or statement we've ever made. AND it's all recorded for posterity for the whole world to see. This freaks a lot of people out, but I think of it as a plus. You know pretty quickly when someone is being fake.

Online friends are easier in a lot of ways. We can invite them into our shop without having to introduce them to any other part of our lives if we choose not to. We may quip and make comments about other parts of our lives, and sometimes we share struggles and tragedies, but we can draw the line where we wish. This isn't so easy in person. We can choose not to talk about our profession or our families so long as we talk about woodworking. And tools. And more wood. And tools. And when Lee Valley has free shipping. Oh, I got distracted, sorry.

One of my neighbours is a woodworker. We socialize with him and his wife, and they are both fantastic people. He's invited me over to his shop, and said to call him if I ever had questions or needed anything. He was sincere. How many times did I go over? Exactly zero until last week. I managed to smash both index fingers in the extension arms of my planer and needed some help getting them bandaged. We're not talking gallons of blood or anything but enough that I needed to put pressure and couldn't manage without some help. My immediate neighbours who are close friends weren't home. The only other place was the woodworker's. And his wife is a doctor. With both indexes out of commission, I swallowed my pride, wrapped my fingers in a towel and headed over. When the husband opened the door, he looked at the towel, his faced changed to grey and he asked 'the saw?' I quickly said 'no, everything's still attached, just smashed them' At that, he gave a big grin, invited me in and we swapped stories while his wife decided that one of my fingers needed an x-ray. He lives exactly two doors down and it took that for me to connect with him about ww?
And after only a week or so, Rex knew me enough over on Stumpy's thread to poke fun at me and give me a hard time?

Strange, really.

Heck, I've gone over on my time. This would not be a surprise to my friends.

Sandra
 
#114 ·
Let me be the first, cause I'm the first one here? My thoughts are it is easier online as people present themselves in one format? I'm a woodworker although I'm many other things. We can monitor ourselves and edit ourselves here where it's hard to go over our mistakes in real world situations.

Arguments happen here on beliefs and ways to do things. If it's not woodworking… I'm outta there!

I have had a relationship with my now retired veterainarian for all the years since I came to live in this town. found out from someone else…He's a woodworker!

I invited a MN woodworker who sent me a PM to call me as he lives about 40 miles away. Never Did?

Hope you are not severely damaged and take time to think safety in your shop. One distraction, and I don't have a saw that stops.

An on line friend. :)
 
#150 ·
Sentimental Joinery - sappy over wood

First, the caveat:

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about woodworking, trying to make sense of what it is that has always drawn me to it. I'm notorious for over-thinking, overanalyzing and basically spending too much energy navel-gazing. This blog is intended to get some of it out of my head. I'll be glib, sarcastic and flippant in my other posts. Who knows how this one will turn out. It may be a train wreck, so reader beware! If navel-gazing doesn't hold any appeal or distraction for you, move on. If you're allergic to estrogen, move away quickly.

My own personal rules are to not to spend more than 30 minutes on any one post. I can correct a mistake if I catch it right away, but can't go back. If I post it, I can't edit or delete. I tend to edit things to death and have been known to delete my posts before it's too late.

If anything resonates with you, feel free to chime in.

938pm

My husband and I differ greatly when it comes to the keep/throw out issue. Personally, I can't stand clutter and I see no need to keep many of the things that my husband refuses to throw out. Over the past two decades, we've learned to compromise. I've loosened up a bit, and he's thrilled with the reno that finally happened after he culled much of his 'stuff' from the basement. In my mind, there is no emotional significance attached to a sweatshirt that no longer fits, EVEN if it was bought at the Calgary Stampede. But he obviously doesn't have the same logic. Neither is right or wrong, but I still try very hard to keep as much stuff leaving the house as is coming in. Prior to Christmas is a dangerous time to leave anything laying around our house.

So this evening, I wandered out into the shop and eyed my lumber rack and scrap cart. My friend had given me some pieces of mahogany and I wanted to get them up out of the way. Also, it's starting to look (dare I say it) cluttered. Considering I've had the lumber rack less than a year , it's quite full. As I picked up pieces and rearranged, I was genuinely surprised at what was going through my mind.

On the main rack, there are the messed up birch stretchers that had been intended for my workbench. I stood there looking at the tenons, remembering how pleased I was with them and how ticked off I was when I realized that I had mis measured the width. Then there are the pieces of rough lumber that have yet to hit the planer. I bought most of those from a guy settling his grandfather's estate. Also, there are pieces of hard maple leftover from my benchtop. I bought those in Sussex from a real estate guy. We had a great chat and he ended up selling me the maple for $1.50 bf. Maybe I should make a cutting board for him and his wife. And so it went. I finally got the mahogany boards up on the rack. The only thing that got taken down was a beat up 2×4. It's pine. Enough said.

The smaller rack above my counter holds the rough lumber I bought from another guy who was settling an estate. It's a shame really, how little he knew about wood;) Someone had bundled and labeled the boards, probably the person who passed away. Whoever he was knew how to treat lumber!

Then I started rooting through the scrap bin which is also quite full. Well, 'scrap' is a pretty strong word. I have many pieces of hardwood bought at local specialty lumber shop that sells their 'shorts' for half price.
The pieces of walnut and hickory are leftover from my first two cutting boards. I love working with walnut, and the hickory has a really nice grain. There are several rough cherry boards which have yet to declare their destiny. Among the species of wood, I even have favourites now. Only another lumberjock would consider that normal. And the plywood pieces in the back of the cart? Well, we all know how expensive and IMPORTANT plywood is. The section of dowels and melamine have mentally been made into many jigs already so without a doubt, they stay.

So while I did tidy up, I did not set anything aside for the bonfire pit. I did however, take a nice little mental journey through the projects I've done in the past year and it was quite enjoyable. Perhaps I've gained insight as to why my husband won't part with things. If this is how he feels when he sorts through old boarding passes, then maybe I 'get it' now, but only a bit. Will I share this epiphany with my spouse? Absolutely not. I don't want any more of his stuff taking up room that could be used to store more wood.

10:24pm
Went well over my mandated 30 minutes of writing. But this is wood we're talking about, right? Can I hear an amen?
 
#151 ·
Amen!!!

I too have a soft spot (not including the one on my cranium) for memory ladened clothes. I have concert shirts that are 20 years old and since they still fit….
 
#161 ·
Dead wood

First, the caveat:

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about woodworking, trying to make sense of what it is that has always drawn me to it. I'm notorious for over-thinking, overanalyzing and basically spending too much energy navel-gazing. This blog is intended to get some of it out of my head. I'll be glib, sarcastic and flippant in my other posts. Who knows how this one will turn out. It may be a train wreck, so reader beware! If navel-gazing doesn't hold any appeal or distraction for you, move on. If you're allergic to estrogen, move away quickly.

My own personal rules are to not to spend more than 30 minutes on any one post. I can correct a mistake if I catch it right away, but can't go back. If I post it, I can't edit or delete. I tend to edit things to death and have been known to delete my posts before it's too late.

If anything resonates with you, feel free to chime in.

9:29
We're all going to die.
It's just as certain as we were born, pay taxes and suffer the effects of gravity.
When we hear of someone passing, the first question is "how old was he/she?" and then we proceed to compare that number to our age and do the math.
We all know it, but it makes us squirm to talk about it, and most of us don't even want to think about it.

When is it a tragedy?
One of the LJs lost a son-in-law last month, a young man who had just become a father.
I think we'd all agree that leaving a newborn and a young wife behind is a tragedy.
My mother-in-law is 88. To her, anyone dying under the age of 90 is a tragedy. She's scared to death that she may get "C-A". (she can't even say the word cancer) I guess that's another example of how everything in life is relative.

My father is only in his sixties, but he constantly makes comments about this or that 'outlasting' him. Why would he buy an expensive pair of shoes, when he'll be dead soon anyway? (his logic, not mine). I'm thinking 'why not buy whatever the heck you want provided you're not going to leave debt behind for someone else to carry.

A friend of mine with a serious health issue has told me that he's 'accepted' death, whenever it may come.
Wow! I dont' know if I'll ever be there. Don't get me wrong. I don't think the world is going to stop turning when I'm not here to grace it with my presence, but I suspect I would arrive at the Pearly Gates with a chip on my shoulder if I don't get to raise my children.

Of course I'm just realizing that anyone who cares to read this may start a discussion on the 'after-life', so I'll make my views clear: I don't necessarily think that God is a caucasian male with a long white beard, because that's too similar to Santa. I do believe however, that there is a God, and I do believe that there is something for us after physical death. Even for the non-Catholics. (GASP!) I think it's like reading a book. Each of the characters has a voice in our heads, and it's the same way with God. He may not sound or look the same way to you, but that's because of the filter through which we see everything.

There are those who believe the glass is half empty, those who believe the glass is half full, and those who believe that the water was poisoned in a government conspiracy involving China. Regardless, we each have a finite amount of water.

Where am I going with this? I have no idea. Of course it may have something to do with the internist who is sending me for an echocardiogram to rule out a atrial myxoma. What is that you say? It's a benign tumour that grows in your heart. It's not cancer, but it can block various structures causing stroke and sudden death. It also happens to secrete some weird compounds into the body causing a wide variety of symptoms.
Nobody is saying I have this, it's just next in the list of things being ruled out in my quest to drain the Canadian medical system dry of funds. It certainly got my attention however.

So when I went and looked at the Record CL3 48" lathe that is being sold in my neighbourhood, I could have justified the purchase. It's not going to take food off the table, it's a good deal, solid piece of machinery, you only live once etc etc etc. But the danged thing is huge. I have no space for it. Nowhere to even hide it for a few weeks. And it's likely more lathe than I will ever need. Not because I plan on dying anytime soon, but there are just so many other things I would like to try before I feel the need to turn table legs. And since I don't want my husband pouring all the water out of my glass, I passed on the purchase.

Am I depressed? No. Contemplating life's vicissitudes? You betcha. I've always liked that word, 'vicissitudes'. I read it in a book once.

I think I'll wander out into my shop and wait for something on the lumber rack to call my name. Anyone who says that wood is dead isn't a woodworker.
 
#189 ·
Mere meanderings, or 'Stumpy's Trail of Tears'

First, the caveat:

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about woodworking, trying to make sense of what it is that has always drawn me to it. I'm notorious for over-thinking, overanalyzing and basically spending too much energy navel-gazing. This blog is intended to get some of it out of my head. I'll be glib, sarcastic and flippant in my other posts. Who knows how this one will turn out. It may be a train wreck, so reader beware! If navel-gazing doesn't hold any appeal or distraction for you, move on. If you're allergic to estrogen, move away quickly.

My own personal rules are to not to spend more than 30 minutes on any one post. I can correct a mistake if I catch it right away, but can't go back. If I post it, I can't edit or delete. I tend to edit things to death and have been known to delete my posts before it's too late.

If anything resonates with you, feel free to chime in.

8:07pm
A few weeks ago, there were some comments made about the ever changing group of people who frequent the Stumpy Nubs thread. Some of it was amusing, some of it was accurate and some of it was unnecessarily hurtful.
Here's my own view of Stumpyland:

-If someone loses a family member, condolences are expressed, and then we move on. We all feel for the person, and their family, but from my own experience, it's nice to be among friends and think about something else for awhile during a tragedy.

-If someone has cancer, heart disease or the like, they are not excused from ribbing, and good natured insults. With my own health issues, it's nice to go somewhere where I don't have to hear the simpering 'how arrrrrrrre youuuuuu???" Yes I need to vent occasionally, and maybe that makes some non-Stumpy folks uncomfortable, but then I fully expect to be teased for my rant.

In other words, nothing is taken too seriously in Stumpyland although there is a unspoken level of respect. We all have good days, bad days and some really horrid days but we know we can go there and feel like Norm at Cheers.

We do talk about woodworking. And more woodworking, and then something about somebody having a barge, and then then one of the guys just built a Super Sucker, and Andy now owns a Woodmizer and we all hate him for that. Gary is usually on early in the morning, and he serves up the coffee.

Four years ago, a close family member lay dying. I would call him and tell him raunchy jokes. He would laugh so hard he'd wheeze. And then he'd ask me to call him again. He seemed to enjoy the break from the somber seriousness attached to dying in this society.

I guess what I'm rambling on about tonight is this - if you can forget your troubles by finding a group of people with whom you feel comfortable and accepted and who also make you laugh until the soda shoots out your nose, enjoy every minute of it. If you prefer to wax philosophical about stuff more substantial than Rex's toilet habits, have at it. If you like to discuss miter accuracies to the .001 and then argue about why that's not mathematically possible, all the power to you. And if your schtick is to find fault in other people's coping mechanisms, then I guess that's a coping mechanism in and of itself and I'm sure there are like-minded people for you too.

And all of that is right here on Lumberjocks.

Set the timer for the coffee Gary. I'll be up early tomorrow.

And Randy - don't stay up past your bedtime. A man your age needs his sleep.

If Stumpy's thread is in fact a 'Trail of Tears' it's because we laugh a lot. How hard do we laugh? Depends. (Get it? Depends…..?? Rex gets it.)

G''night John Boy
 
#205 ·
Sometimes, it's just ugly.

First, the caveat:

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about woodworking, trying to make sense of what it is that has always drawn me to it. I'm notorious for over-thinking, overanalyzing and basically spending too much energy navel-gazing. This blog is intended to get some of it out of my head. I'll be glib, sarcastic and flippant in my other posts. Who knows how this one will turn out. It may be a train wreck, so reader beware! If navel-gazing doesn't hold any appeal or distraction for you, move on. If you're allergic to estrogen, move away quickly.

My own personal rules are to not to spend more than 30 minutes on any one post. I can correct a mistake if I catch it right away, but can't go back. If I post it, I can't edit or delete. I tend to edit things to death and have been known to delete my posts before it's too late.

If anything resonates with you, feel free to chime in.

8:26
For the most part, I know what I like and what I don't like. For example I don't particularly like the look of live edge tables. I also am not a huge fan of the 3D cutting board designs because they give me a headache. I appreciate the work that goes into both these things, and can look at a 3D cutting board in awe at the design and the precision with which it was done. Nevertheless, I have no intention of building either one of these things. And regardless of my growing appreciation of woodworking, I still like the look of painted wooden furniture.

Prior to getting into woodworking, my husband owned a few pieces of 'bachelor' furniture made by one of his friends who was a weekend woodworker. They were knotty pine with a shiny varnish. And they were ugly. Red Green lodge kind of ugly. Even now, knowing the work that went into them, I still think they were ugly and have no regrets getting rid of them.

Because ww is a hobby for me, I've had the luxury of building only what I damn well please. But I broke some cardinal rules about 2 weeks ago and now I'm paying for it. Over coffee, my good friend and neighbour announced that she'd been trying to buy a tie cubby for her husband. She showed me this picture:

Light Rectangle Textile Line Red


We chatted about how she'd like it a bit more this and that and then we both got all excited about building it.
I think I even said the dreaded 'oh I could build that'.

She wanted it to be made of maple and I though 'sure, why not?' She wanted a dark stain and I thought the same thing. I could picture it in my head. (I've never been good at that)

All roses and sunshine, I sketched out the dimensions and set to work.

Here's the thing - it's ugly. I was working on the stain last night and started to really dislike the whole thing.
I think it's a waste of maple. Maple is not DARK. If you want dark wood, use dark wood or if you want it completely chocolate brown, buy pine and paint it. When I started thinking like that I realized I was tired, getting grumpy and I called it a night. Usually I get up the next morning and look at a project and have a new perspective.

Not this morning. It's still ugly. The stain is okay but in my opinion, it's ruined how nice the grain looked. It also points out that my sanding wasn't as good as I thought it was, but that's my own fault. So here I am in the middle of a project that I think is ugly and if I were making it for myself, we'd be having a VERY EXPENSIVE bonfire tonight. But it's not for me.

I'm not saying it's ugly because I want reassurance that it's nice, or to be told what a fine job I did. I'm saying it's ugly because I think it is. I would have liked the dividers to be MUCH thinner than they are, the stain to be lighter or non-existent and the whole thing to be more light weight. It's a perfect project for pine, plywood and paint.

So my hat goes off to those of you trying to earn a living at wood working because this is as close as I ever want to get to making custom pieces for a good long time.

Nobody likes to say it, but not all babies are cute. They're all loveable, but some are just, well, ugly. ET phone home kind of ugly, no matter how much we love them. The doctor who delivered my son came to see me the next day in the hospital room and announced that my precious bundle of joy looked like Mr. Magoo. I was properly insulted but now when I look back at his baby pictures, I can see the resemblance.

Just because it's made with love doesn't make it immune from being ugly. I mean the tie cubby of course. My son grew out of the old man look for the time being. I expect the tie cubby is going to remain ugly forever.

8:56 Right on time.
 

Attachments

#206 ·
Sometimes, it's just ugly.

First, the caveat:

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about woodworking, trying to make sense of what it is that has always drawn me to it. I'm notorious for over-thinking, overanalyzing and basically spending too much energy navel-gazing. This blog is intended to get some of it out of my head. I'll be glib, sarcastic and flippant in my other posts. Who knows how this one will turn out. It may be a train wreck, so reader beware! If navel-gazing doesn't hold any appeal or distraction for you, move on. If you're allergic to estrogen, move away quickly.

My own personal rules are to not to spend more than 30 minutes on any one post. I can correct a mistake if I catch it right away, but can't go back. If I post it, I can't edit or delete. I tend to edit things to death and have been known to delete my posts before it's too late.

If anything resonates with you, feel free to chime in.

8:26
For the most part, I know what I like and what I don't like. For example I don't particularly like the look of live edge tables. I also am not a huge fan of the 3D cutting board designs because they give me a headache. I appreciate the work that goes into both these things, and can look at a 3D cutting board in awe at the design and the precision with which it was done. Nevertheless, I have no intention of building either one of these things. And regardless of my growing appreciation of woodworking, I still like the look of painted wooden furniture.

Prior to getting into woodworking, my husband owned a few pieces of 'bachelor' furniture made by one of his friends who was a weekend woodworker. They were knotty pine with a shiny varnish. And they were ugly. Red Green lodge kind of ugly. Even now, knowing the work that went into them, I still think they were ugly and have no regrets getting rid of them.

Because ww is a hobby for me, I've had the luxury of building only what I damn well please. But I broke some cardinal rules about 2 weeks ago and now I'm paying for it. Over coffee, my good friend and neighbour announced that she'd been trying to buy a tie cubby for her husband. She showed me this picture:

Light Rectangle Textile Line Red


We chatted about how she'd like it a bit more this and that and then we both got all excited about building it.
I think I even said the dreaded 'oh I could build that'.

She wanted it to be made of maple and I though 'sure, why not?' She wanted a dark stain and I thought the same thing. I could picture it in my head. (I've never been good at that)

All roses and sunshine, I sketched out the dimensions and set to work.

Here's the thing - it's ugly. I was working on the stain last night and started to really dislike the whole thing.
I think it's a waste of maple. Maple is not DARK. If you want dark wood, use dark wood or if you want it completely chocolate brown, buy pine and paint it. When I started thinking like that I realized I was tired, getting grumpy and I called it a night. Usually I get up the next morning and look at a project and have a new perspective.

Not this morning. It's still ugly. The stain is okay but in my opinion, it's ruined how nice the grain looked. It also points out that my sanding wasn't as good as I thought it was, but that's my own fault. So here I am in the middle of a project that I think is ugly and if I were making it for myself, we'd be having a VERY EXPENSIVE bonfire tonight. But it's not for me.

I'm not saying it's ugly because I want reassurance that it's nice, or to be told what a fine job I did. I'm saying it's ugly because I think it is. I would have liked the dividers to be MUCH thinner than they are, the stain to be lighter or non-existent and the whole thing to be more light weight. It's a perfect project for pine, plywood and paint.

So my hat goes off to those of you trying to earn a living at wood working because this is as close as I ever want to get to making custom pieces for a good long time.

Nobody likes to say it, but not all babies are cute. They're all loveable, but some are just, well, ugly. ET phone home kind of ugly, no matter how much we love them. The doctor who delivered my son came to see me the next day in the hospital room and announced that my precious bundle of joy looked like Mr. Magoo. I was properly insulted but now when I look back at his baby pictures, I can see the resemblance.

Just because it's made with love doesn't make it immune from being ugly. I mean the tie cubby of course. My son grew out of the old man look for the time being. I expect the tie cubby is going to remain ugly forever.

8:56 Right on time.
Not all styles are for everyone. First, I love live edge furniture. Second, nobody should have that many ties. Third, I agree, there are ugly babies. Last, I actually hate painted furniture. I totally agree with your statement that if you want it dark use dark wood.

Excellent ramblings today young lady.
 

Attachments

#246 ·
End of Life Lessons

I'm notorious for over-thinking, overanalyzing and basically spending too much energy navel-gazing. This blog is intended to get some of it out of my head. I'll be glib, sarcastic and flippant in my other posts. Who knows how this one will turn out. It may be a train wreck, so reader beware! If navel-gazing doesn't hold any appeal or distraction for you, move on. If you're allergic to estrogen, move away quickly.

My own personal rules are to not to spend more than 30 minutes on any one post. I can correct a mistake if I catch it right away, but can't go back. If I post it, I can't edit or delete. I tend to edit things to death and have been known to delete my posts before it's too late.

If anything resonates with you, feel free to chime in.

9:05 pm
Conversation with my son as he ran his hand over the casket:
him: "Mom, this is nice. What kind of wood is it?" (that's my boy!)
me: Maple. It is nice, isn't it?
him: Why would they make it out of such nice shiny wood if they're just going to put it in the ground?
me: That's a very good question

A week ago, my mother-in-law was alive. She was full steam ahead, baking bread almost every day, visiting friends, chatting on the phone, church, travel, driving etc. She took a massive stroke and died about 12 hours later. She was 89. It was sudden and it is sad, but in my opinion it was not tragic. I hope I am blessed to leave this world in that way. And for the record, she was wearing her 'good' wig. She looked like a million bucks.

I've dealt with death in my profession. I've used gallows humour that would surely offend many, but that others would completely understand. I don't think those experiences have made me callous, or heartless, but perhaps they've made me more pragmatic about the process of leaving this mortal coil. Or is it shaking off the mortal coil? Some quote about the moral coil. I'll look it up later.

In the last week, my kids have learned a lot about the whole business of death and I'm grateful for the life lessons they've had. End of life lessons, really. We sat with Grandma and talked with her in the hospital even though we knew her body was shutting down. Some friends joined us and there was laughter and story-telling amidst the tears. The kids left with friends as the end grew nearer, and my husband and I sat with his mother, holding her hand, praying and talking to her. The body doesn't usually give up gracefully and we were thankful when she was at peace.

And then the work began. The obituary, the funeral home, picking out an outfit, pictures, phone calls, beer, more phone calls, company and more beer. In her small community, it's traditional for a 'wake' to stretch over 2 days before the funeral. This is when everyone lines up and walks past the casket, says their goodbyes then have somewhat awkward conversations with loved ones. (aka us)

We prepared the kids and practiced some things they could say in return for condolences and we talked about how everyone reacts differently to death. I explained that their father had just lost his mother and that no matter her age, she was his Mommy.

Sister Ada was there. She is 93. She went through the line twice. She no longer remembers us and when I told her that we had lunch with her just awhile ago, she quipped "well I don't remember, so you'll have to come back to see if I remember the next time."
One lady said 'thank you for your loss' to each of us in turn.
Some people mumbled their way through, and my husband couldn't place half of the people there.
We laughed about all of that at the end of both evenings.

The funeral was lovely. Our daughter did a reading and our son was a pallbearer. He told me that it was REALLY heavy and that if he didn't lift it started to tip.

They saw their father cry for the first time. (They see me cry all the time)

They learned that this whole 'we all die' thing is true.

And now they're learning that the world will go on and that the sun will still rise regardless of who dies.

We all need reminding of those things, so thank you Thelma for the life lessons and the end of life lessons.

9:52 -but I was interrupted.
 
#247 ·
Of course your thoughts always reflect many of ours. Most of us simply aren't strong enough to say it out loud. Of course my prayers go out to you and your family. It's good that the kids can see that strong people can cry also. Tough lessons.
 
#269 ·
Total Fluff

I'm notorious for over-thinking, overanalyzing and basically spending too much energy navel-gazing. This blog is intended to get some of it out of my head. I'll be glib, sarcastic and flippant in my other posts. Who knows how this one will turn out. It may be a train wreck, so reader beware! If navel-gazing doesn't hold any appeal or distraction for you, move on. If you're allergic to estrogen, move away quickly.

My own personal rules are to not to spend more than 30 minutes on any one post. I can correct a mistake if I catch it right away, but can't go back. If I post it, I can't edit or delete. I tend to edit things to death and have been known to delete my posts before it's too late.

If anything resonates with you, feel free to chime in.

9:34
Sometimes it's good to take a step back from the 'deep thoughts' we all have and just enjoy a bit of fluff.
Today I was at a card shop and saw a little journal about gratitude. I didn't buy it, but I asked myself what I was grateful for at that very moment.

Boggs. That's what first popped into my mind, maybe because I was wearing them at the time. If you don't know what they are, they are insulated rubber boots with funky patterns and handle holes on the sides to pull them on. They're worn by all the yuppy kids at daycare, but they now make monstrous ones for adults. Mine were a Christmas present. Name brand rubber boots just sound sooooo wrong. I grew up with the black ones with the red toe and heel passed down from my brothers. If you wore them with shorts they rubbed your legs raw.

But today it was a miserable snowy, wet, windy, cold day and I was grateful for my purple flowered Boggs. They're warm, comfy and probably one of the best presents I ever got.

So what are the illogical 'fluffy' or smaller things in woodworking for which I'm grateful or make me smile?

-the little red tip on my Rockler glue bottle. Genius. I love the bottle and I haven't lost the tip yet.
- wingnuts (not people wing nuts, but actual wing nuts). There's one on the side of my table saw for holding the extra blades and I give it a turn and the thing spins like a whirly-gig.
-sandpaper. Can't really explain why.
-The itty bitty ball bearings in the full-extension drawer slides. I got mad at a slide once and discovered how many ball bearings come out if you smash it. I considered keeping them.
-the word 'marrette' So it's not woodworking, but they're in my shop. I grew up not knowing they had a name. It sounds pretty worldly and exotic for a little plastic thingamabob for wiring.
-nail set tools. These fall into the 'wow, they make those?' category.
-a monkey wrench. How can a name like that not bring you joy?
-glue encrusted shop clothes. Other than an apron, it's the only time I'm wearing something that can be used for wiping my hands
-prying open a can of stain
-pounding a can of stain closed

What else?

Shortest blog ever. Evidently I need some practice being grateful.

10:03
 
#270 ·
Of course you are correct again. It's so easy to get down on life with "bad things" happening. The reality is that we have more good things to be thankful for. My mother is still going strong and will turn 85 in 2 months. I am thankful that I have not had to listen to my brother sing for several months (this may be at the top of my thankful list). When I do something stupid in my shop, i have LJ friends to share it with. I am thankful that I have had no snow for the last week. I found my poor old chisel I use to remove bark from slabs. It's kinda like me, it doesn't have to be real sharp to do the job.

Thanks for reminding me to be thankful.
 
#287 ·
Body and soul

I'm notorious for over-thinking, overanalyzing and basically spending too much energy navel-gazing. This blog is intended to get some of it out of my head. I'll be glib, sarcastic and flippant in my other posts. Who knows how this one will turn out. It may be a train wreck, so reader beware! If navel-gazing doesn't hold any appeal or distraction for you, move on. If you're allergic to estrogen, move away quickly.

My own personal rules are to not to spend more than 30 minutes on any one post. I can correct a mistake if I catch it right away, but can't go back. If I post it, I can't edit or delete. I tend to edit things to death and have been known to delete my posts before it's too late.

If anything resonates with you, feel free to chime in.

0732 My first morning blog I believe. I've crawled back into bed with my laptop, with various parts of my body unhappy that I forced myself out from under the covers in the first place. For Eastern Canada, it's been stinking hot and my battery feels drained. That, and my muscles are killing me. Here's why:

In March, my left quad 'seized up'. Or something. Not quite sure. Regardless of what it's called, it has been changing between very sore, sore, and seriously painful. Massage therapist says it's consistent with spasticity, which would be consistent with the MS theory, but at this point, I've taken a break from the medical mystery machine and I don't really care why. It just is.

The massage therapist did give me a wake up call though. She told me to 'use it or lose it'. If this is MS, she said it's important to strengthen the muscles. Although it's sore, my quad isn't really being used much. The lightbulb went on for me and so I've been using some of my precious energy reserves for strength exercises and have been looking like a complete idiot doing contortions with a foam roller. So now everything is sore. The upside is that it has taken my mind off some of the other symptoms I deal with.

There are many ways to look at this whole 'mortal coil' or 'mortal clay' thing.
Christopher Reeves wrote that his wife saved his life by looking at him in his hospital bed after his accident and saying "You're still you and I love you". Melissa Ethridge wrote about being in the hospital during cancer treatment in excruciating pain. She said something about her realization that she was not just her body. It was something about part of her body could be taken away, and she would still be herself. They both had a point.

If we're lucky, we all get old. In the process, our bodies change. Getting 'sick' just means it happens all at once, or out of the blue, or more dramatically than we had hoped. Where was I going with this? Writing before my second cup of coffee was a bad idea. Oh yeah, body and soul.

I realized yesterday that I was getting really grumpy. I had not made any sawdust in a few weeks, which I figured was part of the problem. However, true to my duty as the household Evil Queen, I blamed everyone else. Sawdust is soul food for me. So as tired as I was yesterday, I fired up my sander outside and sanded some chair parts in the pre-Arthur wind. (Thanks to Monte, I can't think about this weather now without thinking of Dudley Moore, but I digress.)

Everything still hurts. My quad is doing the funky chicken and the evil little gnomes that zap my legs are in fine form today. But, I made SAWDUST. And when I look in the mirror and ignore the tired face looking back at me and take a look at her eyes, I'm still me.

So yes, whatever is going on with my body is important. Not important enough for me to give up coffee or become vegetarian, you understand, but important nevertheless. My soul on the other hand, and the proper feeding thereof, is essential. That's what makes me me.

I've promised my LJ buddies to lay off the delete button for awhile so I won't delete this. Besides, rambling is part of who I am also.
And coffee. And MASH re-runs. Oh and lumber hoarding (waaaaalnut) and and…
Oh yeah, and I'm employed too. So getting out of bed is a bit of a necessity.

Happy July 4th. Feel free to be yourselves.
 
#298 ·
Body and soul

I'm notorious for over-thinking, overanalyzing and basically spending too much energy navel-gazing. This blog is intended to get some of it out of my head. I'll be glib, sarcastic and flippant in my other posts. Who knows how this one will turn out. It may be a train wreck, so reader beware! If navel-gazing doesn't hold any appeal or distraction for you, move on. If you're allergic to estrogen, move away quickly.

My own personal rules are to not to spend more than 30 minutes on any one post. I can correct a mistake if I catch it right away, but can't go back. If I post it, I can't edit or delete. I tend to edit things to death and have been known to delete my posts before it's too late.

If anything resonates with you, feel free to chime in.

0732 My first morning blog I believe. I've crawled back into bed with my laptop, with various parts of my body unhappy that I forced myself out from under the covers in the first place. For Eastern Canada, it's been stinking hot and my battery feels drained. That, and my muscles are killing me. Here's why:

In March, my left quad 'seized up'. Or something. Not quite sure. Regardless of what it's called, it has been changing between very sore, sore, and seriously painful. Massage therapist says it's consistent with spasticity, which would be consistent with the MS theory, but at this point, I've taken a break from the medical mystery machine and I don't really care why. It just is.

The massage therapist did give me a wake up call though. She told me to 'use it or lose it'. If this is MS, she said it's important to strengthen the muscles. Although it's sore, my quad isn't really being used much. The lightbulb went on for me and so I've been using some of my precious energy reserves for strength exercises and have been looking like a complete idiot doing contortions with a foam roller. So now everything is sore. The upside is that it has taken my mind off some of the other symptoms I deal with.

There are many ways to look at this whole 'mortal coil' or 'mortal clay' thing.
Christopher Reeves wrote that his wife saved his life by looking at him in his hospital bed after his accident and saying "You're still you and I love you". Melissa Ethridge wrote about being in the hospital during cancer treatment in excruciating pain. She said something about her realization that she was not just her body. It was something about part of her body could be taken away, and she would still be herself. They both had a point.

If we're lucky, we all get old. In the process, our bodies change. Getting 'sick' just means it happens all at once, or out of the blue, or more dramatically than we had hoped. Where was I going with this? Writing before my second cup of coffee was a bad idea. Oh yeah, body and soul.

I realized yesterday that I was getting really grumpy. I had not made any sawdust in a few weeks, which I figured was part of the problem. However, true to my duty as the household Evil Queen, I blamed everyone else. Sawdust is soul food for me. So as tired as I was yesterday, I fired up my sander outside and sanded some chair parts in the pre-Arthur wind. (Thanks to Monte, I can't think about this weather now without thinking of Dudley Moore, but I digress.)

Everything still hurts. My quad is doing the funky chicken and the evil little gnomes that zap my legs are in fine form today. But, I made SAWDUST. And when I look in the mirror and ignore the tired face looking back at me and take a look at her eyes, I'm still me.

So yes, whatever is going on with my body is important. Not important enough for me to give up coffee or become vegetarian, you understand, but important nevertheless. My soul on the other hand, and the proper feeding thereof, is essential. That's what makes me me.

I've promised my LJ buddies to lay off the delete button for awhile so I won't delete this. Besides, rambling is part of who I am also.
And coffee. And MASH re-runs. Oh and lumber hoarding (waaaaalnut) and and…
Oh yeah, and I'm employed too. So getting out of bed is a bit of a necessity.

Happy July 4th. Feel free to be yourselves.
 
#299 ·
Yep, ya is who ya is….

I'm a procrastinator….
& I use LJs as the facilitator!!!

I hope that you enjoy many more a "sawdust smorgasbord"....
The results of which look great!!!
That & they are also very good for you!!!
 
#310 ·
Epiphany at the bandsaw

I'm notorious for over-thinking, overanalyzing and basically spending too much energy navel-gazing. This blog is intended to get some of it out of my head. I'll be glib, sarcastic and flippant in my other posts. Who knows how this one will turn out. It may be a train wreck, so reader beware! If navel-gazing doesn't hold any appeal or distraction for you, move on. If you're allergic to estrogen, move away quickly.

My own personal rules are to not to spend more than 30 minutes on any one post. I can correct a mistake if I catch it right away, but can't go back. If I post it, I can't edit or delete. I tend to edit things to death and have been known to delete my posts before it's too late.

If anything resonates with you, feel free to chime in.

10:39
It's been a long time since I posted a blog entry, and I've been neglecting some of my friends on LJ lately. But tonight I had a 'moment' at the bandsaw that I'd like to share. I was resawing maple for my next batch of clothespins and the new blade didn't seem to be cutting well. Then I noticed how fine the sawdust was and so I stopped the saw. I realized that I had just put on a new blade with too many TPI for the job I was doing.

"No big deal" I thought, and so I took off that blade, coiled it back up, took down another one, installed it, adjusted the tracking and was back in business. In no time I had done about 100 bf of lumber.

And then it occurred to me that what I had just done as a routine part of being in the shop was something just a few years ago that I would have known nothing about. Just reading about it was intimidating to me. Before I bought my bandsaw, I bought a book, read all about it and understood very little. The first time I had to uncoil a blade I was in a long sleeve shirt, wore leather gloves and had safety glasses on. I was sure I was going to sever an artery just handling it.

And I HATED my Rikon that first year. The belt was walking off the pulley, I couldn't get the blankety-blank thing to track, and on it went. I still would like to trade up, but I've learned a lot about how a band saw works and I can usually figure out what's going on. A new blade fixes a lot of problems….

My shop is now wired for 220 and is lit with 6 glorious LED fixtures. I can tell you about each tool I use and what the quirks are. I can listen to a board going through the planer and tell you if there's still a low spot by the sound it makes.

Mr refurbed Delta planer hums along nicely and I know when the blades need to be sharpened. Better yet, I refurbished it myself.

Without my LJ buddies, I'm pretty sure I would never have gained the confidence to jump in and learn some of the things I can now do.

I guess what I'm trying to say is I AM WOODWORKER, HEAR ME ROAR!
(Insert manly tool noises and a fist pump)

11:02 pm. That's all I got. Goodnight, don't let the bedbugs bite.
 
#326 ·
When you finally see the forest through the trees

I'm notorious for over-thinking, overanalyzing and basically spending too much energy navel-gazing. This blog is intended to get some of it out of my head. I'll be glib, sarcastic and flippant in my other posts. Who knows how this one will turn out. It may be a train wreck, so reader beware! If navel-gazing doesn't hold any appeal or distraction for you, move on. If you're allergic to estrogen, move away quickly.

My own personal rules are to not to spend more than 30 minutes on any one post. I can correct a mistake if I catch it right away, but can't go back. If I post it, I can't edit or delete. I tend to edit things to death and have been known to delete my posts before it's too late.

If anything resonates with you, feel free to chime in.

12:09

For those patient souls who have been part of my Lumberjock journey, I joined this site when I was very ill in 2011. One day I was fine, next day I was admitted to the hospital with something attacking my nervous system. Nerve pain to the point of wanting me to sever my legs, twitching, face droop, extraordinary fatigue, ringing in my ears, test after test after invasive test. First theory and last theory standing was MS but no diagnosis.

Anyone who would DARE suggest that any portion of my medical issues was connected with stress or mental health was promptly put in his/her place and summarily told to figure out what the $@&& was wrong with me and stop messing around asking me if I was stressed. Of course I was stressed. I was in and out of the hospital with worsening symptoms. Was I depressed? Well, I was off work for a total of 7 months during which I didn't know if I was dying and if I even wanted to live with the pain I was in. Of course I was depressed.

My social circle shrunk. I stopped visiting a good friend whose three boys were young and loud.
The mall was completely out of the question and on a bad day, I couldn't get the groceries into the house without help. This site was what kept me going through all of this. The Stumpy Nubs thread quite literally kept me alive some nights.

Six years later I still have symptoms, but I'm 'better'.

There was no magic moment when I got better. There were little moments.
-when I decided I had enough of medication that was somebody's best guess
-when I spent a crapload of cash on a personal trainer and started working out again
-when I was put in charge of a team at work who needed me to show up at work everyday
-when my saint of a psychologist delicately posed the question
-when I started taking medication for something other than the physical symptoms

And bit by bit, I started to accept that of course it was related to stress. Much of illness is. If someone is leading a tremendously stressful life, is overweight and has high blood pressure, we don't say "it's all in his head" if he has a heart attack, do we?

I've now been diagnosed with PTSD, which I didn't think could apply to me, because I didn't serve in Vietnam, Afghanistan or Rwanda. THOSE folks could reasonably have PTSD, but me? I didn't think I had seen enough, been traumatized enough or had served enough to have PTSD. ( I'm pretty sure some of you had it figured out long before I did.)

And through all of this, I found woodworking. I started selling clothespins and so far I've made close to 25,000 of them. Many of you told me it would become a 'job' or a 'chore' and in some ways you were right. But when I go to a craft show, or I get an online order, I get to be the Clothespin Lady. I'm not my profession, or a wife or a mother. I'm just the Clothespin Lady. And clothespins aren't political and they never mistake me for the secretary.

12:38 am - it's past the Clothespin Lady's bedtime.

Thank you, my friends.
 
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