Reading Material

Rebecca Stead’s
'When You Reach Me'. 

Look at This...

This is my winter jacket.

No... you must click and enlarge...

I insist.

I love this jacket.

But I think this might be its last winter.

Anyway...

I made this in the shop...

Oh... yes... well...

A

Emmy asked for a story for Christmas

 and I couldn't possibly say, 'no' to a request like that.

So I wrote there and not here,

and maybe, if she'll share... or it's worth sharing... we'll post it.

Then of course there has been the toy box, which is nearly done.

I'll get pictures up.

But there you have it,

and off again I go.

Mostly pictures

So we had this...

Now we have this...

And there was this for a bottom...

Now there is this...

All of it lacks a final finish coat

and needs some color work

but you get the idea.

Incidentally...

All work below the keyboard and any re-finishing,

 ( no doubt, I will have refinished the entire piano by the time I'm through)

is just because I want to do it...

well... have to do it.

You get lots of extras hiring an Aspie. 

Anyway...

Gwen, this is what I consider to be a mess...

Just so you don't think it never happens.

And Mr. Old Fool...

I thought you might like to see the beast that heats my shop...

Some locals made it.

She sat out in the weather for quite a while,

so she ain't pretty, but she'll throw out some heat now.

Oh...

and here is the saw mill shed with the lath on...

I have an oak tree on the way.

She'll have shingles before you know it.

'Night ya'll.



Bugs and Commisions

A

A rather demanding, midnight number two and morning clouds in my head, have led me to believe that I have a bug of some sort. Fortunately, bugs don’t fair well in my stomach. Too much yogurt, I suppose.

But it's got me trying to remember the last time I was sick. Not sick, sick. Just, blah sick, like this. I can’t remember. Maybe blah sick doesn’t make enough of an impression on me to be remembered.

I know that it’s been years since I was the laid-up kind of sick though... with the flu and all of its glorious green goop. I imagine it has something to do with my being out in public a bit more back then. People tend to make me sick.

Anyway, I’ve been working on my latest commission, too, hence the lack of posts. I tend to immerse myself. (This would be one of the reasons that chicks don’t dig me.)

I know that the word commission sounds like it involves a lot of money, but trust me; in this case it doesn’t. I’m looking at the fringe benefits: the possibility of more commissions and, well, just having an s-pile of fun. Seriously, this is a really cool job. I’d probably do it for free.

I’m converting an old upright piano into a computer desk.

Trust me; I’m doing this piano a favor.

I’ve had to gut the piano, which gets you pretty intimate with how they’re assembled. And from a furniture building standpoint, you can’t beat the craftsmanship of a musical instrument. It’s an absolute joy unearthing all of the old-school details: the lack of nails, the precision joinery and beautiful veneers, let alone the mechanics involved in creating the sound.

But then... I get to put it all back together... as something slightly different, but still with the same (although modified) pieces: moldings and panels and columns. This seriously rocks! I can’t wait to post the results. It’s going to out-do the Altar. Heck, I bet the Pope orders a piano computer desk when I get done.

Anyway, there’s an update…. with germs… so don’t forget to Purell or Germ-X or whatever.

Alive...For Now.

So Stephanie drops me a note, telling me that I’ve lulled off into Recluseville again.

How many weeks has it been?

I’m glad some one pays attention. Thanks Steph. 

I’d love to say that I’ve been very busy. But mostly I’ve just been cleaning up the paranormal amount of dog hair in my house and writing more shit.

It’s crazy. Hair is just falling off of Dog. Individual hairs, but lots of them. Most of them.

 Underneath, he’s more skin than hair now.

He looks like a chimp, only with more boobs.

It’s this heat wave we are having… which, I’ve been told is the result of Liberals and homos and abortion clinics and Satan and stuff.

Not the su… uh… unnnn, bu… dee. That’s ah… natch… a… rel.

Anyway, I was thinking about dying too, and how crazy that is.

I mean, you're running around and 

BOOM!

you’re gone.

That’s crazy.

Sometimes…

okay, all the time…

when I hear on the radio that so-and-so croaked

 at such-and-such an age.

I do the math.

Like if the person was eighty, I think, “Man, that gives me like thirty-five years.”

I can do a lot in thirty-five years.

But if the person died at, fifty say… I think,

 “Boy, I better get busy, I’ve got a lot of stuff to do and no time to do it.”

Talk about crazy.