My House Needs Fiber

I had a moment of clarity last night, unfortunately. It can be very relaxing to be wrong and not know it, so it’s always upsetting when I get an epiphany.

I had the TV on because one of the birds was out of the cage, and I happened to see a show called “Hoarders.” It’s about people who fill their houses with junk, until the rats take over and the kids have to sleep on piles of boxes.

The show bugged me. I’m not a true hoarder, but I’m related to one, and I have lots of hobbies, and I’m absent-minded. Put it all together, and you end up with a person with lots of junk, who puts stuff down in the wrong places and forgets it’s there for weeks or months. Hoarding Lite.

I got up and started relocating things. I had a pile of books and gun parts by my bed. I made room in a closet and stored it. I took tool-related items off the dining room table and put them in the garage. I threw out a number of stupid and worthless items.

Of course, I will need all of those items very badly today. That’s how decluttering works. As soon as the garbage truck drives away, you need whatever is in it.

I hate clutter. It’s like living in a little dirty crevice. It probably raises your blood pressure. But I have a clutter-prone personality. It’s like Felix and Oscar are in my head, duking it out like Rock’em Sock’em Robots.

I have a feeling that the Holy Spirit reduces clutter. Hear me out. When you’re not living for God, you do stupid things with your time and money. You will wander down fruitless paths, involving yourself in futile pursuits. That’s because only God can guide you in the direction you’re supposed to take. Result? You end up with stuff you weren’t supposed to have. Not just stuff, but time obligations. For example, you may give up church because your talented kid has sports practice every day, or simply because you want to squander time watching football on TV. You might end up devoting three hours a night to drinking beer. You may find yourself at a strip bar three times a week, blowing your money.

When God takes over, your priorities and desires change with time. Suddenly, you don’t need an entire closet for your porn collection. Or, like me, you may want to get rid of your delicious Cuban cigars. You find yourself selling things and giving things away. Life becomes more streamlined. You start discarding the things Paul referred to as “dung” so you can make room for the pearl of great price.

I still have a rolling toolbox full of gun stuff by the dining table, and a lot of my canning supplies are sitting on it. I have to move that to the garage. I have to throw out or give away some of the garage objects I will never need. I think it’s safe to throw out my old PC cabinet, and I need to Craigslist my brewing kegs.

I really need to get rid of the Super Genie Lift I inherited from one of my dad’s tenants. A guy at my church said they’ll take it, but it may be ten years before they get around to coming for it.

One of the reasons I don’t like Miami is that there is no space here. I’d like to have a home with an outbuilding for my hobbies. Here, that would run maybe three million dollars. A hundred miles north, maybe two hundred and fifty thousand. Cities are for limited people. If your only hobbies are TV and clubbing, Miami is perfect for you. Add three hobbies, and you’re out of luck. You need to move and get more room.

Last night I thought about my grandfather’s house in Kentucky. It had five bedrooms, including a little spare bedroom that held some of his guns and my grandmother’s sewing stuff. It had a big kitchen, a full dining room, a full living room, a big den, a second den in the basement, a second kitchen in the basement, tons of extra basement square footage, a big foyer, and three baths. It also had a tool shed and a barn, plus a carport and a concrete patio.

Mind you, this was not a mansion. It was just a nice red brick home. It brought $120,000 when the heirs sold it.

THAT is living. Bring your tools. Bring your cooking equipment. Buy three smokers. Get four gun safes. Get a bass boat and an RV and five motorcycles. No problem!

My idea of an ideal home is a three-bedroom CBS house with a big commercial-style kitchen, terrazzo floors, and no curtains, with nothing on the walls except maybe NRA calendars. Put a 1500-square-foot building out back with lots of room for musical instruments, tools, and storage. Give me two acres or more to grow food. I’m done. Let me live there until I die. You would have to hold me at gunpoint to get me to leave that house to go to paradise.

Forget antiques. Forget rugs; they hold dirt and stains and smells. Forget hardwood. It rots, termites eat it, and it makes noise. Put a drain in the kitchen floor so I can spill things. Tile the kitchen walls all the way to the ceiling. Get me white dishes and cups from a restaurant supply house, and put in a deck oven for pizza. Kill every plant that isn’t grass or something that produces food. Give me an entire room for Maynard and Marvin. That’s luxury!

The “stronghold” concept is well known among Christians. Satan has spiritual strongholds we have to conquer. The Canaanite cities Joshua destroyed are symbolic of these strongholds. Addictions and bad habits are strongholds. Bad attitudes are strongholds. A physical illness or poverty may be a stronghold. We’re supposed to break these things down by spiritual warfare.

It has occurred to me that God has strongholds, too. Every human believer is described as a house or a temple or an embassy. We belong to the nation of heaven, even though we live on earth. Within us–within our “walls”–God’s ways prevail. And we have to strive to keep Satan out, and we pray in the Spirit to build ourselves up, so there is something stronger than Satan within us, to repel attackers.

Similarly, a Christian’s home can be a stronghold. It can be an embassy of God. That’s what I want. I know life isn’t supposed to be a breeze, but we’re supposed to live in victory, and it seems to me that within our homes, Satan should be relatively powerless. A stronghold home should be a place where a Christian can retreat and recharge. We have to fight the enemy everywhere else. At home, we should have more peace.

A home should be like a military garrison. You defend it and keep it free from invaders, and from time to time, you make excursions into enemy territory and do damage. Then you retreat back to the garrison and prepare for your next assault.

This is what I want. I don’t want fancy furniture or snooty neighbors or a location shallow people would crave. I want a fortress where I can find a little relief.

Before the clutter show, I say a show called American Pickers, about two guys who go around talking old people into selling them valuable antiques below the market price. They went to visit a man who had twelve buildings full of junk. They had a hard time persuading him to sell them anything. He had to be 75 years old, and this stuff was falling apart, but time after time, they would show him a rusty object and ask the price, and he would tell them it wasn’t for sale. It seemed to me that this guy was in the same boat as the hoarders. He’s going to die, and all that neglected, decaying stuff will be loaded up in dumptrucks and destroyed so the new owners will be able to use the buildings. Crazy.

I also caught a few minutes of a show called Intervention. You can probably guess what that’s about. I plan to record it from now own. It’s helpful to see how tough professional addiction counselors are. It reminded me of an important truth: if you don’t fix a loved one who has an addiction–if you withdraw and wait for them to change, and it doesn’t happen–it doesn’t mean you didn’t try to help. It means the addict didn’t try. Every bad thing that happens to an addict as the result of not trying is the addict’s fault. If someone asks you why you’re not helping, say, “Shouldn’t you be asking why the addict isn’t trying?” Don’t fall for blame-shifting. If you accept even the smallest particle of blame, you might as well be handing the addict a bottle of pills.

It’s funny how I happened to tune in to three very instructive shows, on a night when I was just trying to find entertainment while I communed with my pets. Dang these “coincidences.” They are swarming on me.

But This Chair is so Comfy

I think today is going to be the day I mount a 3-phase motor on my drill press. The South Bend vise I ordered for it arrived last week, so now the motor is the only major issue.

I have a 2-HP motor that was supposed to go with my lathe. It’s a little large for this job, but I don’t think it will cause a problem. The frame designation says it should fit.

Maybe it’s time to think about a mortising attachment, if I can find one cheap.

I miss fooling with my tools. Pizza has really gotten out of hand.

I bought stuff to create a new 220 socket. I should really have four of them. Why play musical sockets?

I need to put a handle on the pizza-removal tool I made for church. The radiant heat from a 500-degree oven heats the tool pretty fast, so if you use it to remove two pizzas from the oven, by the time you get to work on the second one, the tool is surprisingly hot. I suppose I can make a metal coupling from the sheet aluminum I saved, screw it to the tool, and attach a short wooden handle to it.

I want to get a dust collector. I have fooled around long enough. Dust problems have discouraged me from woodworking. But the machine I wanted is no longer available for credit card points, and I can’t make myself pay actual money.

Okay, here I go. I’m going to grab the hammer drill and get to work. Look out. The dust is going to fly.

In a minute.

Shiny!

My drill press vise arrived today, and I stuck it on my cross slide table. Beautiful.

Here it is, before I installed it.

I originally ordered a cam-action vise from Grizzly, but it stuck when opened fully, and they agreed to take it back. To replace it, I decided to try a South Bend (Taiwanese Grizzly) vise, which was considerably cheaper. This is Grizzly’s new high-end line.

I’m very surprised. They worked hard on this thing. The ways are scraped. It was around forty bucks. The Grizzly version is $14, but it looks like somebody carved it out of a block of soap with a tongue depressor.

I have to get off my butt, install two new 220 sockets, and mount my VFD and a 3-phase motor on the drill press. Then I will be the King of All Holes.

I even have something I need to drill holes in, so I can tell myself $500 wasn’t too much to spend.

Grace and Grease

Yesterday I tried my jug of cheap blended olive oil. I slapped some rolls together without kneading the dough. My only fresh garlic had mold on it, so I used garlic powder. Good enough for an experiment, I figured. And no one would ever know.

Oops.

The rolls were surprisingly good. In fact, it’s surprising that they were good at all. I let them rise for a total of 45 minutes, which is ridiculous. But they worked.

The oil blend is not good. There’s nothing offensive about it, but the olive oil content is so low, you can barely taste it. It reminds me of corn oil. It would be okay for pizza, which doesn’t require as much flavor as rolls, but it would not be as good as extra-light olive oil.

I’m going to add olive oil to it, to create a 50/50 blend. If that works, I can save the church cash by buying olive oil and some other oil at Costco and mixing them. I’m pretty sure I can beat the price of the GFS 50/50 blend. Costco sells extra-virgin for about five bucks a liter. I don’t know what they charge for their other oils, but I can get corn oil for five bucks a gallon. I think corn oil would be a little heavy.

Someone is selling a nice commercial slicer on Craigslist for $200. I may snap that up and lend…ow…ow…ow…okay, GIVE it to the church so they can save money on food.

Sometimes when God pushes me to do something, I feel like Cliff Clavin getting zapped with his psychiatrist’s electric behavior modifier. But I’ve mentioned that before.

I had a remarkable experience this morning. At church this week, my pastor mentioned Psalm 127. I guess I might as well publish the whole thing, since it’s short.

Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it: except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.

It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows: for so he giveth his beloved sleep.

Lo, children are an heritage of the Lord: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.

As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth.

Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them: they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate.

He was talking about children, but the part that interested me was the first sentence. This is a belief I hold very firmly. The things you do in this life, no matter how worthy they may seem, are of no value unless God is behind them. You can build a big company, raise successful kids, help the poor, support the church, and still fail to please God or accumulate wealth in heaven, because the things you did were not part of his plan.

The things God builds stay built. Even if the things you do for him don’t last in this world, the reward will be eternal. And he is the only force that can permanently set you free from your problems. Jenny Craig and Betty Ford can set you free for a time, but only God can make you “free, indeed.” To accomplish anything of eternal value, you have to find out what God wants you do to.

That first sentence would be great on a T-shirt.

I decided to look that up today, in my King James Bible. The only King James I have belonged to my mother; my main Bible is the New King James, and I also like The Complete Jewish Bible. I opened her Bible to the 127th psalm, and in the margin next to Psalm 128, I saw my mother’s handwriting. It said “Steve, Dec. 12, 1987.” And she had bracketed the following verses:

For thou shalt eat the labour of thine hands: happy shalt thou be, and it shall be well with thee. Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of thine house: thy children like olive plants round about thy table.

In this life, I will never know why she put brackets around that language. She died in 1997.

Now that I think about it, this happened at about the same time I received a miraculous healing. Late in 1987, I decided to find a church, and I got sick immediately. I developed something resembling a severe cold, but it refused to leave me. It hung on for weeks. I prayed and exerted my faith, never relenting. One day I saw a dark shape fly away from me and out through a closed door, and I was instantly healed, and my mother witnessed it.

Strange things were happening to me back then. Maybe when I left the church, I put off receiving the blessings that caught my mother’s eye.

Olive plants would be children who are full of the Holy Spirit. That’s what olives symbolize in the Bible. A vine produces fruit; maybe that’s the significance of the reference to a wife, who bears children.

If you do what God intends for you to do, you will be blessed. That’s what Psalm 127 says, by telling us what happens when don’t seek his will. And one of the blessings is named in the second verse of Psalm 128. You will eat the labor of your hands. The things you do won’t be futile. You will profit from them, in a lasting way.

It was encouraging to read that. I’m old, but I still have enough potential in me to get a few things done before I die.

I’ve written about my trip to Israel. I traveled there in 1984 and lived on a kibbutz for four months. I have written a lot about the way God guided me on that trip. Things were put in my path. Doors were opened. I never had to worry about what would happen the next day, or where I would go. This, I thought, was “walking by faith” in a very pure form.

Now I find that my current experiences exceed my experiences in Israel. It’s getting downright strange.

My prayers are being answered, right and left. And I don’t just mean stuffy prayers about God increasing my holiness or whatever. I mean even mundane prayers. I pray for the neighbors’ dogs to shut up while I’m praying, and it happens, every time. If you don’t think a thing like that will freak you out the tenth consecutive time it works, wait until it happens to you.

I was instantly healed of a kidney stone in my church’s parking lot. I have been permanently delivered from overeating; I can work on pizza recipes all day and not gain weight. My church had to fire its cook, and suddenly, I make the best Sicilian pizza I’ve ever eaten. I went to church to make it, and people unexpectedly appeared and started moving equipment around, and in a few minutes, I had the perfect pizza prep station.

There’s more to it than that. I physically feel things taking place during prayer. And it doesn’t always happen during the most intense moments. Sometimes I’ll pause, and I’ll literally feel something happening inside my head. I’ll feel something touching me; lifting tension off of me and easing my mind. I think this may be the “peace of God, which passeth all understanding,” because I definitely don’t understand it. A couple of nights back, I prayed about my gallbladder, which seems to resent my weight loss, and I felt my gallbladder open up. Once you’ve had pain in your gallbladder, you know exactly where it is, and you can feel what happens to it. From time to time, with increasing frequency, I feel something dropping over me, and I believe it’s the Holy Spirit.

I think I can physically feel faith going up from me to God. Seriously. I think it’s a substance. I believe it rises up to him, and I believe this may explain why the Bible describes our prayers as incense and so on. The 141st psalm says, “Let my prayer be set forth before thee as incense, and the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.” That’s just one of many examples.

I just remembered: “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” Perhaps “substance” has a literal meaning.

I’m starting to wonder exactly how much power God will allow a human being to have. And whether I should have it.

If I’m right about these things, this is a wonderful way to live. Maybe I won’t have a yacht and a mansion and a fleet of limousines and a herd of eager-to-please consorts, but I’ll have the ultimate power on my side. I will be able to lose battles from time to time, but it will be impossible for me to lose a war. Can it be that this is what we’re intended to have?

I’ll tell you my secret. It’s not complicated. You don’t have to buy a DVD or get a ticket to a seminar. I pray in tongues a lot. At least an hour a day. As far as I know, this is the fundamental thing that changed my life. Everything else flowed from it. And it’s consistent with what Paul said. He told us this would build us up. Few of us, even among charismatics, pay any attention. But the Bible does not contain idle words, so it must be true. I think it’s like working out or watering a plant. And Perry Stone says it will bring you revelation. Robert Morris, I believe, compared it to going to the gym.

Believe me or don’t. I am not a scholar; I don’t study the ancient church fathers, I don’t speak Hebrew or Greek, and I don’t pretend I can decipher the entire Bible and provide perfect doctrine. I’m just telling you what worked for me. I’ve believed this since about 1990, and now other people are confirming it.

It’s not from hell. I’m not getting the base desires of my flesh satisfied. I’m becoming more disciplined and mature, without turning into an ascetic heretic. I’m not spreading hate or telling people God wants them to give me money so they can drive Bentleys. I think this is the real thing.

If you really want to give me money, however, don’t let me discourage you. Think of it as a seed gift, which I will plant in order to harvest a nice spray-on liner for my truck bed. Or some more expensive tools I will rarely use. Godly stuff, I assure you. God probably won’t give you a hundredfold return or anything, but my truck will look swell. “How beautiful is my truck with Vogues and a hood scoop.” That will be my slogan.

I’ll give myself a plug, here. If you give money to a TV minister, he’ll just blow it on stupid things like orange Rolls Royces or bad hair transplants. I’ll get cool stuff, like a two-deck pizza oven. Think it over. I don’t want to be a pest. But you’ll feel really good about it. I’m sure of it.

I promise not to send you a miracle prayer cloth or dirt from the Holy Land. I will refrain from praying over your offering, and I assure you, I will blow every last penny on myself. That’s integrity, right there.

I better put up a Paypal link.

Pizza Tools for Cheap

Here is my new pizza peel.

Sweet, right? Took five minutes on the table saw, plus a little work with the bench grinder and angle grinder. Now I can lift a 12″ x 9″ pizza out of the pan with minimal risk of a disaster.

A few minutes ago, it was a 16″ pizza pan. If I felt like it, I could make a handle for it in about fifteen minutes and then use the peel from now on. Maybe I’ll do that. It will work just as well as the peels I can buy, and the total cost is under four bucks.

Man, I love having power tools.

More

Now improved!

The Workmate was essential to getting the bend right without a press brake. Is there anything it can’t do?

I am a Businessman

It’s turning out to be an interesting day.

I was distressed to learn that GFS charges tons of money to slice their cheese. Their provolone sells for under $3.00 per pound in a block, but it’s way higher in packaged slices. The figure escapes me, but I think it was something like six bucks. I started looking for a Craigslist slicer, figuring we might get a donation in exchange for a tax receipt, but then I decided to check out food service prices.

Costco mozzarella is swell, but you have to go get it. They don’t deliver in Miami. Grande makes wonderful cheese, but it’s wholesale-only. I decided to call Grande and see who the local distributors were. They gave me a rep’s number, and he referred me back to GFS, so I got a quote out of them. GFS referred me to a salesman who does their route business (as contrasted with walk-in), and the salesman said he might be able to do better on the price. That puts me below the Costco/GFS price and at least close to the price of Costco mozzarella by itself.

Oddly, Grande’s shredded cheese costs about what their blocks cost.

Anyway, the cheese problem is fixed. Either we get a slicer and keep doing what we’re doing, or we go with Grande. Week after next, they’ll give me some samples to play with!

I still need a small peel to pull little Sicilians out of the pan. I went to the local Ace Hardware, hoping they’d have steel dustpans, and sure enough, they did. For eight bucks. I bought one and kept the receipt. Then I hit Home Depot to look at their sheet metal. It’s flimsy and very expensive, so I didn’t buy.

While I was at Home Depot, I realized I had $3.99 aluminum pizza pans with thick rims. This is like 10% of the Home Depot cost for the same square footage of really thin, useless metal. So I’m going to put a pan in a clamp and hit it with the plasma cutter or use the table saw. In about two minutes, I’ll have a suitable piece of aluminum, and then I can bend it to suit my needs. I’ll keep the rim on one end to serve as a handle. You can’t beat that. I’m only out the cost of a pan, and I can grab a new one at GFS at my convenience.

Honestly, I do not understand metal prices. You would think the people who sell metal would realize they should charge less for raw materials than manufacturers charge for things made from them. I don’t know where I could get an 18″ circle of thick aluminum, but I’ll bet I’d have to pay thirty bucks.

This is tremendous fun. The people at my church feel like I’m doing them a favor, and that’s true, but I get to polish up my pizza technique and find out about the business. And the pizza is going to be fantastic. It will be a success in terms of sales, although I don’t know if the church will break even. Surely they will, though. No tax and no labor costs. If God continues to be as kind as he has been so far, we’ll do great.

The Bible criticizes people who make sanguine predictions about their businesses without mentioning the importance of God’s favor, so I try to throw it in when I talk about my expectations.

You’ll Never Guess

PIZZA!

It’s on my mind again today. Yesterday I bought 8 quarter-sheet baking pans at Gordon Food Supply, and today I have to season them with olive oil and lard.

I was trying to decide how many pans we needed, and I was afraid they’d cheap out, so I bought enough to give us a total of ten. If they choke when they see the receipt, I’ll chip in. I don’t care. It has to be done.

When I make a Sicilian, I let the dough sit in the pan for a minimum of 15 minutes. Longer is better. Half an hour is about right, unless you can wait an hour for the loftiest pizza in the universe.

It takes six minutes to bake a pie. That means the turnover time for a pan is about 40 minutes. I can realistically cope with two pies at once, tops. That means I can bake something like two pies every eight minutes, so my pans will last around 40 minutes, and after that, I have to recycle. If I have ten pans, I can refill them as I go, and the circle of production should be sort of close to seamless.

If I used half-sheet pans, life would be simpler, but the big pies are more treacherous to handle, and I don’t want any extra challenges right now. When I’m ready to move up, the seventy dollars we spent on the smaller pans won’t really matter.

The seasoning works better than Teflon. Not even a close call. It’s like a layer of hard wax with oil on top. The dough has nothing to hold onto. But you have to get a few layers onto the pans before it will work.

I store my pans inside my refrigerated prep table, because I know if I don’t, some “helpful” person will come in and clean them for Jesus. It will happen, if there is any way possible. That’s human nature.

As noted previously, I just found a pizzeria for sale for $33,000, in a dynamite location. I know why it went out of business. It’s about two blocks from Steve’s, which is a pretty good pizzeria in North Miami. People rave about Steve’s because they don’t know any better. I give it a B+, which is a very good grade for Miami. They don’t scare me, however.

The place that closed is called Keystone Pizza, which is funny, because people refer to Jesus as the keystone. It’s not funny that they closed. That has to be heartbreaking for the owners. But I didn’t really mean “funny.” I meant “weird.”

Mike is eating his liver. I told him about this place. He says he has to stay in DC for another year and a half (or until the ice melts), because his son is dug in there. I don’t see why this matters. Once a week, you Fedex the boy a box of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and you give him an allowance to pay for laundry. Problem solved. But Mike can be very obstinate, even when presented with a brilliant solution like this.

Today I have to get out in the garage and fabricate something to move pizzas with. My small peel won’t be here until next week. This might be a good excuse to weld, although the end product would be more like a weapon than a pizza peel. I guess I could go to the hardware store and pick up a small sheet of aluminum. I may have a piece of steel somewhere.

I can’t wait to see how things go on Sunday. We’re only going to produce 40 slices, which is what I would call super-cautious, but it’s better to sell out than end up with an embarrassing surplus. Always leave them wanting more.

It’s nice to have something this important to work on.

And When I Die With Them, I Keep Them

Last night I watched Jazz with Marv and Maynard, and I enjoyed some Knob Creek and a Coke chaser. Then I went to bed, and while I was getting ready to sleep, I started thanking God for all the little pleasures in my life.

It was quite a list. It seems like the more mature I get, the better I am able to enjoy things. I eat less than I used to. I drink less. I quit smoking cigars. I try to curb my baser appetites, and I try to be more responsible. And I believe God works in me, making these things happen. As excess disappears from my life, the things I enjoy stand out more, perhaps because they’re not lost in the background noise of constant overindulgence.

Let’s see. I enjoy squeezing my pets and conversing with them. I enjoy the food I cook. I enjoy working on my musical skills. I love listening to good jazz and classical music. I love shooting and reloading. I look forward to having breakfast with my dad once a week. I love using my tools. I smile every time I see the ridiculous diesel pickup I bought. Every time I walk into my church, I feel like a kid running through the gate at Disneyland; I always know something good is going to happen.

The time I set apart for prayer and study is wonderful. Every session is a miniature Sabbath. It’s a sanctuary no one can intrude on, and more often than not, I sense God’s presence, and I feel like I’ve gotten a breakthrough.

You can have too much stuff in your life. You can have so much going on, you can’t appreciate any of it or do any one thing well. That’s very natural for me, as anyone who reads my blog knows, so I’m very glad God is adjusting me. Who knows? One day I might actually sell one of my motorcycles or even my flamenco guitar.

I’m keeping the milling machine and the Powermatic 66, however.

Covetousness. That was my problem. It’s not so much that I wanted what other people had; it’s that I wanted things that wouldn’t really bring me satisfaction. I used to buy stuff and then fail to enjoy it, because I thought too much about the things and not enough about the effort and time involved in deriving pleasure from them, so they sat and rotted. I still like to get toys, but now I get good use out of them, and I think that is because God is changing me and guiding me. It’s pretty unusual for me to regret spending money or time these days. I generally get a good return.

Somewhere in the Bible, it says something about how sad it is when a man has something he can’t enjoy. That’s what life without God is all about. You get rich, but you end up in rehab. You become famous, only to find that the thing you want most is privacy. Things like that happen. We don’t know which way we should go or what we should do, so we turn up blind alleys and end up with things that don’t bring us happiness. On the other hand, God promises us that if we’ll listen, he’ll guide us. He says, “I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye. Be ye not as the horse, or as the mule, which have no understanding: whose mouth must be held in with bit and bridle, lest they come near unto thee.”

We don’t know what we need or what we want. We can’t know. The world is too complicated, and we’re not smart enough to see all the angles. Only God can know. So he gave us a system in which we obey him and listen to him, and he gives us what we should have. He gives us things that are truly satisfying, and which have lasting value. And at the end of our time, we don’t stand before God poor and blind and naked, which is what happens to people who amass the wrong kind of wealth. The stuff we take wrongly, we lose. We only keep that which we were intended to have.

I wish I could go back in time to about 1971 and slap myself. But like the relatives of the rich man in the parable about hell, I would not have listened.

Long ago, when I thought I was about to have a comic strip syndicated, I cut photos of sportfishing yachts out of magazines, and I taped them to walls and so on, to give me motivation to work. That seems funny now. What if I had succeeded? I’d be a big, fat, conceited (more than I am now) lout who thought he made it without God’s help. I’d have shallow friends who drank all the time and never set foot in a church. I’d have no relationship with God, because I’d think I didn’t need one. The yachting crowd is coarse and venal; I know them. I would have gotten sick of them in two seasons. I’m much better off with the folks who attend church on Saturday night.

I thought I knew what I needed, but I wasn’t even close.

I don’t know where I’m going, and I admit, I wish God would hurry up, but I know that things are better than they used to be, and the trend is positive, and it’s a trend I can trust. I’m not building on sand.

I don’t know if buying a cornet was a good idea, but it will be fun for at least two months, and it will cost very little. I actually prayed about it, and I really felt like I should try it. Weird.

I feel like a piece of rough lumber somebody is jointing and planing and sanding into shape. Life gets more enjoyable all the time. I even appreciate the problems and setbacks. Now they seem to have meaning, and every one ends up blessing me. It’s hard to harm someone who walks with God, because God takes everything you throw at him and makes it a help to him.

All that stuff Jesus said; it looks like it’s actually TRUE. That’s wild. I never thought he was lying, but it’s still impressive when I see his words confirmed.

CLICK dial CLICK dial…

Here’s a tip for people who buy stuff from Grizzly Industrial. If you order a set of T nuts and two of the four nuts are unusable, and you call customer service and you get Sherleesa the Crabby CSR Who Hasn’t Had Coffee Yet, and she snaps at you and tries to transfer you to technical support so you can describe the defects over the phone and have the tech nerds explain why you are wrong, just hang up. When you call again, you’ll probably get someone normal, and this person will send you free nuts, and she’ll let you keep the two that aren’t defective.

At least that’s what happened to me.

I think this is the best strategy whenever you get a CSR who isn’t satisfactory. Hang up. Call again. Hang up. Call again. Never mention the earlier calls. Act like it’s the first time you’ve dialed, and start at the beginning. Sooner or later, you’ll get someone who can actually do their job.

Here is Sherleesa earlier in the day. I think this is why she was so rude to me.

I may as well admit I don’t really remember the CSR’s name.

At Least it’s Free

My heater pooped out again! Might as well admit it. But all is not lost. I opened it up and found a little electronic doodad that wasn’t making contact, and I bent it a little, and now I have heat. Oddly, this worked out even better than a perfect repair, because now I can take the heater back and get a refund. So free heat until a better one arrives. I think the thing I bent was the tip sensor or the overheat sensor, and now the heater works, but it won’t shut off if it falls over. If I messed with the overheat sensor, I guess the heater will just explode.

Anyway, I’m happy. I get heat while half of Miami is freezing.

Not Found in Stores

Wondering why people become home machinists? Take a look at what this guy built: LINK.

Isn’t that a beauty? He says it’s legal, too. I think this would be a great thing for dads to show young men who show up to take their daughters out.

Warding Off the Prince of Persia

I am trying to figure out what to do for the next 40 days.

Every year my church has a 40-day thing. You can fast for 40 days or make some other sacrifice during this time. You’re supposed to sign up. I was sick all week, so I forgot about it until I went to church on Sunday. They had a form to fill out, and there was no way I was going to come up with something during the service, so I held onto the form. I guess I can turn it in this weekend.

I decided to spend one hour in prayer every afternoon until February 12. That’s a good one. This illness has wrecked my prayer routine, and I am desperate to get it back in shape. Mid-day prayer is very powerful. But that still leaves the question of fasting.

I considered doing a “Daniel fast.” This means you cut out bread, flour, rice, meat, wine, sweets, and all beverages other than water, for 21 days. It was tempting at first, but the more I think about it, the more it sounds like a giant bummer. And I don’t have a lot of faith in partial fasts. I got fantastic results with a water-only fast this summer. I was relieved of some self-control issues, including a lifelong tendency to overeat. But would I get that kind of payback from a Daniel fast? Not sure.

I already have regular fasts built into the month. Maybe I should add one day a week.

Fasting with no particular goal seems like a dubious practice.

Maybe the prayer-hour thing is enough. You can make yourself crazy with unnecessary asceticism.

In my opinion, this stuff means nothing unless accompanied by prayer. Perry Stone seems to agree. He says that when you fast, you’re not supposed to lie around watching TV, waiting for the day to end. The point of the exercise is to enhance your communication with God, so I guess it should be obvious that the prayer part is more important than the fasting part.

Now that my illness is fading, I’m going to get back on track. I’ll be able to get up earlier and resume my morning prayer routine. That will set me up great for the afternoons.

My Fein Multimaster arrived. I have no idea what to do with it. It was really just a way of avoiding letting credit-card points expire. I should find an excuse to plunge-cut some holes in something.

I guess it was a reasonably smart buy. There is no way I would have spent actual money on this thing, so this is the only way I would ever have gotten one.

I’m taking a break from sight-reading practice. I think I finally figured out how to practice correctly. I should have listened to my piano teacher. He said he would open books of sheet music at random and just play. I tried software and sight-reading books instead. For the timing, the programs and books are fine, but they don’t work for note-reading. Why? Because they’re repetitious. Sight-reading is playing music at sight, which means “not by memory.” If you play a sight-reading exercise twice, the third time, your memory kicks in. That renders the exercise useless. You need a continuous supply of unmemorized material. That’s why random sheet music is better.

Boy, was I stupid. I didn’t understand the importance of what he was telling me. I don’t think he did, either. When you’ve always done something right, maybe it’s hard to guide people who do it wrong.

Memory doesn’t seem to interfere with timing practice. I guess it’s easier to memorize pitch patterns than time patterns.

If this works, I won’t have to break the piano up for kindling. I’ll be able to use it. That would be a dream come true. I am hoping God will help me become a competent musician so I can make use of my gifts. Wasted potential is an ugly thing. It would be a thrill to compose some decent songs. I’d love to be able to write music fluently instead of one note every five minutes.

I was insanely gifted at languages when I was a kid. I barely worked, but I won prizes. My college French instructor asked if I had lived in France. Then I got old and my memory weakened, and memory is a big part of it. If I can get my memory working halfway right again, I should regain a lot of my ability to learn symbolic systems. And music is a symbolic system, very much like a language. Maybe ability will trump old age to some extent. I seem to be picking sight-reading up pretty quickly now. Tonight I found myself skipping pieces because they were too simple. These were really easy pieces, but still.

I’m hitting the B1 and sleeping long hours and losing weight. I memorize psalms every day. I can’t think of anything else that might help, except for gingko biloba, and I’m afraid to take it because I have no idea what it does.

You can’t cry about lost opportunities. You have to strengthen what remains and keep moving. I managed to do a good job of maximizing my writing ability. That’s worth something. A lot of people would be happy to do one thing well. Maybe some day I can find a young person who is wasting his talents, and I can kick him in the rear end until he realizes what he has. If you can’t be a success, you can be a warning to others.

I make a great cheesecake. When I question my self-worth, I can always remember that. And maybe music will still pay off.

Must be the Hash Browns

I feel wonderful today, but I can’t figure out why. Is it because I’m getting over the virus that has slowed me down for a week? Is it one of those mysterious Christian things? Or is it the fact that I just had a MAGNIFICENT MCDONALD’S BREAKFAST WITH REAL COFFEE INSTEAD OF DECAF????

Cynics will move directly to the third option.

This virus is extremely odd. It makes one part of my body sick. Then that part of my body gets well. Then another part gets sick. It’s as if every part of my body has to develop its own resistance. I know that makes no sense. It started out in the upper part of my throat, and then that went away, and night before last, it went to the lower part of my throat. Now that’s breaking loose. It spent some time in my nose and sinuses, too. Where will it go next?

When I was in law school I had a bug like this, and when it got done with the rest of me, it made stuff come out of my eyes. I mean, come on. Give up, already. You lost. Get out. This is starting to seem like pettiness.

When I was a kid, my mother passed on a helpful tip from my great-grandmother. Her remedy for colds and the flu was to wrap up in quilts and sit by the fireplace, roasting her feet. I think this probably works, although I have dismissed other old Kentucky remedies, such as drinking sheep manure tea to make chickenpox pustules break. For several days, upon waking up, I’ve been cranking up the heat in the electric mattress pad and lying there until I get uncomfortably warm. Seems to make for a much better day. This is as close as I can get to roasting my feet by a fireplace. Maybe I could roast my feet by the plasma cutter.

I feel better today, but the improvement is mostly emotional, not physical. My symptoms have improved a lot, but I would not call myself well.

Whatever it is, I’ll take it. It’s better to feel happy than well.

I have to get off my butt and go to church today. I missed all sorts of stuff this week. I could have spent two days looking after a big-time Christian musical act while they visited the church. That would have been great. I missed the New Year’s services. I missed my prayer group this morning; I wanted to go, but it was 50° outside, and I was afraid I would be inviting a relapse by getting up too early and driving to Hallandale with wet hair. And I figured I’d give the bug to the other guys in the group, as well as the nice waitress who takes care of us. Then she’d be dead, and we’d be banned from Denny’s.

I considered going to the doctor today just to make sure what’s happening to me is normal and harmless. Then I remembered something. I saw a mezuzah in his office. Do I really want to see a Jewish doctor on Saturday? Wouldn’t I be contributing to the delinquency of a backslider, or something? The last time I saw him, it was on Saturday, and I didn’t even think about this.

I want to DO something today. I wonder how active I can be without inviting death. I could put the VFD on my drill press. I could try to fix the questionable ergonomics in the garage. Sooner or later, I am going to have to bite the bullet and part with my workbench. I have to get a dust collector, and I don’t need the bench any more, because my table saw provides me with, like, thirty square feet of horizontal surface.

AUUUGHHH I feel liquid running down inside my ear! Is this the virus’s latest attack?

Wait. It’s water from the shower.

Never mind.

Bedeviled by Sean Connery’s Catchy Mantra

Here’s a near-paradox. I love sleep, but I hate rest.

I felt pretty cruddy when I got up today, so I decided to do two things: rest, and stay warm. I think it was a mistake to be active yesterday. And the hotter I get, the better I feel. Except for smelling and sticking to things.

What do you do when you rest? I hate lying around watching TV. I don’t have enough character to do something productive while I rest. This is one of those times when the Internet is actually good for something.

What can I blog about? Here’s something fun. I never, ever redeem my credit card points, and they keep expiring. The stuff you can buy with them is usually not very interesting, so I forget to redeem them, and I lose them.

This year I decided to redeem them for a Sears gift certificate and see what I could find. I decided to get a Fein Multimaster.

This is one of those tools no amateur buys for himself, because they’re insanely expensive for what you get. But when you have a pile of old credit card points and nothing else to do with them, putting them toward the price of a Multimaster seems almost justifiable. It beats not using the points at all.

I have no use for it, as far as I know. Detail sanding, I guess. Cutting things in awkward spaces. That’s about it. I think it’s one of those tools that come into play at random moments, when nothing else works. Like a Dremel.

Maybe I should go lie on my back and listen to religious CDs. I actually enjoy that. If you’ve never had an experience you considered supernatural, this kind of thing can be boring or silly, but when you’ve seen a few kooky things, it’s comforting to hear other people talk about their own manifestations.

What else can I do? No cooking. I’ve gained two pounds. Was it the holidays? Partly. Mainly, I’ve been eating too much because I feel sorry for myself. If I can’t do anything or go anywhere, I should at least be able to eat ice cream, right? That was my line of reasoning. But I am not willing to gain weight, so I had to quit.

I could practice sight-reading, which is like studying Harry Reid speeches while eating liver and waiting in line to have your driver’s license renewed. I’ve decided I’m going to do one of two things: learn to sight-read and give keyboards another chance, or give up the whole keyboard dream. A cousin of mine is married to a famous trombone virtuoso, and she suggested sight-reading as a way of compensating for my deteriorating musical memory. Can’t hurt to try. If I can make myself do it, I might at least be able to compose efficiently, even if I never become a good pianist. Composing was my original goal.

I’m working on improving my memory. I memorize scripture and I am fanatical in my efforts to get enough sleep. And I’m losing weight. I have this idea that being fat is bad for the brain. I’m also taking B1 again.

God gave me a big pile of gifts, and so far, my biggest achievement has been creating the world’s best cheesecake. I realize that’s a major feat which, on its own legs, justifies my elevation to sainthood. But I can’t help thinking I should be accomplishing more. “Cheesecake” makes for a short resume. I hear such beautiful music in my head; surely I was intended to write some of it down.

Christian music was great for a few years, but it seems to be in a slump. Some of the songs they play at my church are so monotonous, you wonder why anyone bothered paying for the copyright registration. If I wrote a song like that, I’d delete it from my hard drive without telling anyone. Christians ought to have quality music again. We don’t want to spend eternity busing performers in from hell whenever we have a party.

I could practice. Or I could go look at YTMND.com for six hours.

Rube Goldberg Drills a Hole

I think it is just barely possible that I ordered the wrong drill press vise.

Here is my cross slide table, which I finally installed today. I had to make those slabs of aluminum from a 4″ square bar. Then I roasted a new countersink trying to make holes for the bolts that attach to the sides of the table. Apparently 1000 RPM, while fine for a 1/2″ 2-flute end mill, is not a great speed for a zero-flute countersink. Fortunately, there was a bigger one in the set, which I did not roast.

Here is my ancient Home Depot drill press vise, which probably has 2 1/2″ jaws. It’s too small.

I figured 4″ would be about right. But check this out:

I guess I can make it work, but it looks a lot like the Grinch’s sleigh on the way up Mount Crumpet.

Maybe I should see about a 3″ vise.

I’m very pleased with the mounting job. It was not easy. I had to saw the slabs out. Then I had to mill them to size. After that, I had to drill the holes, and then I had to do the countersinking. I had to go to the hardware store to find bolts and stuff that would work. The cross slide table is designed as though the engineer who created it knew someone would try to put it on this type of drill press, and he was determined to stop them. I had to sink bolts into the aluminum slabs from below, because there was no way to go through the drill press table without cutting into it.

A more suitable base for the cross slide table would be a viable and useful project, but I’d need a big chunk of steel, and if I screwed up once, I’d have to trash it and start over.

The more I worked on this, the more I understood how much I needed a drill press. Drilling on the mill works extremely well, but you have to play around with a four-foot-long table and a gigantic vise. It would be much faster on the drill press.

I received a VFD for Christmas, so I’m going to slap a 3-phase motor on this puppy. I can’t live without reverse. I just can’t. You understand, right?

I feel like the king tool stud of the universe. And it will be nice to have this junk on the drill press table instead of scattered around the garage.