Saw Base Developing

My adventures in welding continue.

I cut more parts for the saw base, and I managed to get a fair amount of the crud off of them, and I got out the bench grinder and made everything as nice as I could. Then I did some practice welds, resulting in a beautiful sculpture. And I lined up the base parts, fired up the welder, and welded.

Without gas.

I guess when you turn off the gas, enough remains in the system to let you do a few welds. I checked the regulator gauge before I started, and I saw pressure. But during the first weld that counted, the gas ran out, and I got some very interesting results.

I turned on the gas, started up again, ruined a contact tip, and so on. Eventually I realized I should rely on the pictures on the little chart on the welder door, instead of the numbers, which are apparently wrong. And I managed to weld three corners of the base fairly well. The one I screwed up will work. I did extra welding on it, and I did some grinding. Hey, it just has to stay together. It’s not going to have all that much force on the part I screwed up.

I found out I weld better with +2.5 reading glasses under the helmet, because I’m so close to the work. But my biggest problem is smoke. I don’t understand why clean metal would smoke, but it’s happening, and I can’t see the welds very well. I have to stop and start. I hope I’m using the right wire. Surely it’s not flux burning.

I can’t say I’m totally pleased, but the base will work. Tomorrow I can get casters, and then I’ll be able to take measurements and weld on the tabs the casters attach to.

Maybe I’ll make another base, just for the practice. I need it. I swear, I’m going to start driving around looking for metal in trash piles.

I can’t believe there are people who seriously suggest using hydrochloric acid for rust removal. What a farce. I suppose I could get naval jelly next time. Or Ospho. Cleaning the metal is the worst part of this job. A reader suggests electrolysis.

I have to get this finished. I watched Mark Duginske’s bandsaw book, and I’m dying to use my bandsaw, but I can’t use it without the base. The cord won’t reach the new 220 outlet.

Geez, After I do the welding, I have to get this thing cleaned up and paint it. It never ends. Now I have something to do with my surplus grill paint.

I think I want to make a mouse table. I compute from a recliner, with a little table on my right for the mouse. The table I use is okay, but I could make a better one, and it’s a good small project. After a box.

Do I have any hope of drilling 3/8″ holes in mild steel with a hand drill? I never used to worry about things like this. I just picked up the tools and tried. I have to have holes for the casters.

I will succeed eventually. You just watch.

Wing It

If you’re a guy, and you hate to cook, but you bought my book anyway just because you love me, let me reward you. Here is the lunch I just ate. It takes no skill at all, and boy was it good.

Buy a package of six or eight chicken wings. Salt them and sprinkle them with garlic powder. Preheat your oven to 425. Put the wings on a broiler pan and bake them for one hour. This is the recipe from the Frank’s Red Hot label. Obviously, it’s for non-breaded wings.

Wash a medium-sized baking potato and rub it with salt. Poke a few holes in the skin. Nuke it for 5 minutes. Turn it over. Nuke it for 5 more.

When the chicken is done, put it in a bowl with a tablespoon of bacon grease. If you have butter, add a tablespoon of that. Soak the chicken thoroughly in your favorite mild hot sauce (Texas Pete or Frank’s, maybe) and toss it in the grease so it gets coated with everything. If there is grease in the bottom of the broiler pan, add that.

Jam the potato full of sour cream. Pour the stuff in the bottom of the chicken bowl on top of it.

I also heated up a can of greens.

This was totally delicious. If deep-fried wings are better than baked, the difference is beyond my powers of detection.

I have been fooling with welding. Someone astutely suggested that my needle scaler might be a good tool for removing…scale. So I tried it. It works, but it dings the metal up a little. I finished up with a wire brush, and things look okay. I also tried hydrochloric acid. You won’t believe me, but when I took the metal out, it looked like the areas with scale had developed rust, and the rusty areas were rust-free but covered with scale. Seriously.

Sandpaper does absolutely nothing. A wire brush works okay, but it’s slow.

I think sand-blasting is the best answer. I should spring for a blaster and a refrigerated air dryer. I’m too cheap to get a cabinet. I’ll just blow sand into the yard.

Here’s something I can’t figure out. Where does the liquid go when you use an air dryer? Does it drain out of the machine somewhere? Hmm…web sources say it does. I guess that must be one reason these things cost so much. It must be a pain, building something that will drain water out of chilled, pressurized air, without releasing the air.

I should go ahead and drive to Harbor Freight. Water was squirting out of the needle scaler.

Ribs on Sale Again

On my trip to Home Depot, I dropped by Winn-Dixie. I had to. One of this week’s specials: rib roast, $4.99 per pound.

Come on. How is that fair? Just roast it and wave it under my nose, why don’t you?

Obviously, I bought a roast.

I Set Them Up; You Knock Them Down

Here is some serious stuff before I begin my day of frivolous activities.

Reader R. says her daughter-in-law has had an operation for a brain aneurysm. She is now having a lot of pain. R. asks that you pray for relief from pain and a swift recovery, and that God will help her daughter-in-law with her marriage, which is under great stress.

At last check, Leah Friedman had come out of her post-operative coma, but she was having trouble recognizing people, due to the stroke she suffered during the aortic valve replacement.

Mish Weiss sucked it up and decided to try Mylotarg. As you surely know, she is suffering from leukemia, and she did not respond well to a bone marrow graft. Mylotarg is a chemotherapy drug. It can cause liver problems, including pain.

I hate to say this, because I don’t believe in making claims on God’s behalf, but as long as you understand that I’m not predicting anything, I want to say that when I included Mish and Leah in my prayers last night, I felt a tremendous sensation of power and faith. It was very unusual.

That’s the sick list. Pray if you are willing.

There are no Ribs

I may have found the answer to my rust removal problem: hydrochloric acid. The same stuff I use for taking zinc off steel before welding. It’s cheap, it’s easy to find, and supposedly, it works. So I’ll be giving that a try later.

I want to make one thing clear. I am not angry at the people who call me a tool addict. No, I’m just sorry for you. Because it’s so sad, that you think I have a problem. You’re the ones who have problems. You really should get help. And I’m saying that without anger, because I’m too good a person to let rancor get the best of me. And I’m fine, really. And…hey, I think I need a backhoe. I better check Ebay.

Call me “Nathan Hypertherm.” Apologies for subjecting you to Kennedy demagoguery.

Mike called last night. Thank God I was home. He was on the road in Lebanon, Tennessee, and he needed barbecue, and it was getting late. I offered to get on the web and help. Google offered about five restaurants in his area. I brought up a map and steered him to Li’l Joe’s Smokehouse.

It was just like The Matrix. “Operator, I need ribs. FAST.” “I got you, man. Take the next right and proceed three blocks.” Fortunately Joe Pantoliano was not there to pull the plug out of Mike’s head. Mike got to the restaurant right after they had closed due to slow business, and he persuaded them to sell him a pile of takeout. He got ribs and a barbecue baked potato. This is a potato stuffed with butter, sour cream, and pulled pork. He promised to email me a photo, but maybe Agent Smith intercepted it. Or even stole the potato.

AGENT SMITH: I’d like to share a revelation that I’ve had during my time here. It came to me when I tried to classify your potato and I realized it’s not actually a side dish.

MIKE: How about I give you the finger, and you give me my potato?

Actually Mike is more like Morpheus. “Mikeus.”

MIKEUS: You are a slave, Stevo. Like everyone else you were born into bondage. Into a prison that you cannot taste or see or touch. A prison for your stomach.

STEVO: I’ll take the blue pill. And this cheesecake.

MIKEUS: I’m trying to free your belly, Stevo. But I can only show you the door. You’re the one that has to walk through it. If you still fit.

STEVO: You can’t scare me with this Gestapo crap. I know my rights. I want my phone call. Hello, Pizza World?

Something like that.

It’s so depressing. Mike eats pretty much whatever he wants, and I had oatmeal for breakfast again.

Off to Home Depot.

Plus a Revelation

I learned a few interesting things today.

1. It’s best not to grab a 4 1/2″ cutting wheel while it’s moving.

2. Plasma cutters are lots of fun.

Yes, I have a plasma cutter. I didn’t mention it when I bought it, because at the time, I was tired of hearing about how I needed an intervention. Okay, shut up. It’s not like I’m hiding new tools because I’m an addict and I’m in total denial. It’s not. It ISN’T. Oh, like you never bought a new tool. You’re just as bad as I am. You’re the addicts, not me.

Actually, that is completely true with regard to a whole bunch of you.

I guess people are shocked to learn that I don’t tell every single detail of my life here. Or maybe they’re just relieved.

Anyway, I bought this thing, and I never used it because I was flipping out over the clean/dry air problem. I got one of those filters that holds an element that looks like a roll of European toilet paper, but I never got an air dryer because every time I tried to figure out what kind I should get, I went crazy from confusion.

Today I slapped the toilet paper thing on and fired the cutter up. I figured surely it wouldn’t get soaked from the few cuts I planned to make. I also figured I could open it up and let it dry out between uses. Why not? If you use the machine once every two months, surely you can get away with that.

That thing is a blast. And easy to use. The biggest challenge is to move the gun fast enough to keep up with the cutting. You have to move fast to keep from making gouges in the metal, but you have to go slow enough to retain control. It’s like a light saber for metalworkers.

I wore shorts and tennis shoes while I used it, but I also wore my welding helmet. The manual was very confusing. I’m positive the shorts were a bad idea, but while the cutter came with weird little glasses, the manual seemed to recommend a welding helmet. I don’t think it darkened. The manual also recommended hearing protection. Which is weird, because this thing just hisses a little, and that’s from the air coming out of the gun.

I think the water had an effect toward the end, after a bunch of cuts. The cuts got sloppy. Maybe I was doing something wrong. Whatever. It was still great. As much as I love the dry-cut saw, there are some things that are hard to do with it, because of the geometry. You can cut a 4″ square steel bar in half with it, no problem. But put angle iron in it in the wrong position, and it can flip the workpiece out of the vise and do awful things. Also, it makes tons of pointy swarf. I found a solution to that. I blow it out into the driveway and wet it with the hose. By the next day, it has rusted to the point where it’s not sharp enough to be a problem. Little things rust really fast. I don’t know where it goes after that. Maybe the swarf fairies come pick it up.

What a time-saver the plasma cutter is. Zip, zip, zip, and you’re done. Setting up takes ten times as long as cutting. And the cuts are accurate to within maybe a sixteenth.

I cut the main members for the bandsaw base, and then I used a hand grinder to fine-tune the coping. I used a long piece of uncut angle iron as a gauge to see if the pieces I was cutting would fit. Then I found out something disturbing. Home Depot steel is not shaped the same as North River Drive scrap yard steel. The work I did on one piece was fine when mated up to the Home Depot steel, but it was way off on the scrap yard steel. So I decided to make it to Home Depot specs, and tomorrow, I’ll buy another piece of Home Depot metal, to finish the base. It’s easier than driving up to the river.

Now I just have to cut the remaining piece, file everything smooth, remove rust and scale, and weld. I plan to practice on some of the crap I ended up with after today’s work.

I spent about a year on this stuff, and I am aware that I could have done it a lot faster, but when you’re a hobbyist, the process is the objective.

The plasma cutter, not the welder, is the reason I have a 60-amp circuit in my garage. If you’re a tool person, I highly recommend you buy a plasma cutter, because you will have to run a huge circuit, and after that, you will have a lot more tool options.

I’m not sure why I grabbed the cutting wheel while the grinder was running. One nice thing about getting old is that your hide gets tough. I have a very interesting rut on my finger, but it didn’t bleed. When I was a kid, it was a lot easier to cut and burn me. I am not sure why that is. These days, it takes some effort. I still remember picking up a skillet I had just seasoned in a 500-degree oven. I didn’t even get a blister. Of course, I put it down pretty quickly once I realized it was hot.

I would not bet money on the mobile base welding up correctly, but I’m learning a lot and having fun. And the sparks freak out people who drive by the garage.

Miami Manners Strike Again

Today I’m going weld again. I hope. My efforts to create a rolling base for my bandsaw produced poor results, to put it mildly, so I got another piece of angle iron, and I am psyching myself up to give it another shot.

I wish I knew of a good way to remove rust and scale without a lot of effort. I don’t have a sandblaster yet. Last time, I used a drill with a paint-removing wheel, and it does a great job, but it takes an eternity. Maybe I should use sandpaper this time.

The milling machine question keeps rolling around in my head. First I wanted a drill press. Then I wanted a Millrite, because it would take up roughly the same amount of room and do more things. Then I wanted a Bridgeport, because it was only a little bigger than the Millrite, and I knew there was no possibility that I would ever need anything bigger.

I am now tempted to go look at the Millrite the local dealer is selling. The compelling reasons for buying a big used mill were economic. Little mills cost as much or more and do less, and it’s hard to find good used ones, and the new ones cost more than big used mills. And if you resell a little mill you bought new, you can forget about getting your money back. Although a lot of Craigslist and Ebay dreamers don’t seem to realize that. “TAIWANESE MILL/DRILL! USED IN PRODUCTION SHOP FOR 5 YEARS! PAID $3000 NEW! WILL TAKE $2900!”

Yeah, okay. I’ll be in touch.

It amazes me that people who sell used tools think they can recover almost all of their money. Warranties and years of added use are very valuable; a buyer who isn’t getting these things is entitled to a huge discount. If you’re not saving a buyer a minimum of a third of the cost of a new machine, you’re overcharging. Really, half is the minimum.

Anyway, yesterday I realized that the Millrite will fit better in the space I have, it will almost certainly do everything I want for at least a couple of years, and when I get tired of it, I can sell it without taking a big hit. If I can get the price down a little. So it doesn’t really make sense to try to cram a bigger machine in there. I can get one later, at little or no added expense. I assume most of the junk that goes with it will work with a bigger mill.

The biggest job I can foresee at the moment is milling the heads from my Harley. They’re pretty small. I don’t mean shaving them down to increase the compression. I mean fixing the bad factory geometry that impedes gas flow. It’s a Harley; surely I don’t have to explain that the engineering is bad.

By the way, can anyone tell me what the lever settings on an aftermarket petcock mean? I had to replace the pathetic Harley unit, and the new one (Golan) points in three directions: back, sideways, and forward. The directions don’t say which means what.

The big mill question is, how do I evaluate the machine? I have received a lot of useful tips, ranging from, “If it runs, buy it, because nothing serious ever goes wrong with milling machines,” to, “If you can’t have it tested by MIT and NASA, you are almost certain to bring home a machine that is only valuable for scrap.”

I exaggerate, but not as badly as you think. People on forums literally say you can buy a machine that is so worthless it has to be scrapped.

A lot of old machines come from teaching environments. My best guess is that they would be better buys than industrial machines. Although I do have visions of Beavis and Butt-head in shop class, playing Rock ’em Sock ’em Robots with the equipment.

I got some pointers on checking machines out, but ultimately, a leap of faith will be required.

I also need to buy some rocks. There is a house going up across the street, and the folks working on it need gentle reminders not to park here. A cracked differential would fill the bill nicely, and a couple of big rocks are the way to achieve that goal. Miami is incredible; people will stand in your face and tell you they’re entitled to park in your yard (on your popup sprinklers) because the strip by the road belongs to the government. That isn’t true, and even if it were, that’s how trash acts. It’s not acceptable. In other words, it’s perfectly acceptable in Miami, but in a civilized area, it would get you shot, and there would be no possibility of an indictment. This is why rocks and concrete yard ornaments are such huge sellers here. They’re all over the place. In other parts of the country, they are unnecessary, because people know how to behave.

I spent some time yesterday Googling gorgeous homes in the middle of the state. Cheap. Huge. Not surrounded by contentious barbarians who are constantly at each other’s throats. Oh, yes. It WILL happen.

By the way, I did not delete my blogroll. It’s hosted at Blogrolling, and evidently, they are having problems. I can’t even log in to check on it. Hopefully it will come back to life soon.

Deals to be Had?

Anyone heard of Index brand machine tools? Guy in Central Florida has a couple of mills. I tried to look them up on Practicalmachinist, but you can imagine how many posts contain the word “index.” I did see some favorable material. Supposedly, these are better than Bridgeports, but they sell for less. And the company still has parts, and the service is great. Down side: Bridgeport is like the Chevy 350; anything you need for it can be found easily.

Metalmaq in Hialeah has one. Looks like it has seen some hard times: CLICK.

Childhood Memory I Wish Had Remained Buried

I had an interesting experience today. Yesterday, I went to a viewing, and today I attended the funeral. I won’t say what kind of church I went to, except that it was one of the older denominations.

When I first arrived, looking up at the vaulted ceiling and the stained glass, I felt a sense of peace, as though God was there. And then the ceremony got underway. And the sensation vanished.

Man, what a contrast, between this church and the church I’ve been attending.

At the church I attended on Sunday, people are thrilled to be there. There is interesting teaching which always seems to be directly applicable to a problem I’ve had during the preceding week. Worship is sincere and spirited and joyful. And the congregation is right in the middle of it. They are listening and praying and responding and worshiping.

At the church I went to today, four old gentlemen in ornate robes stood behind a mammoth table, reciting canned prayers and rituals. The people in the pews were purely spectators. I’m sure they prayed and took the proceedings seriously, and they did answer the priests as required, but it was as though they were behind a fence, watching while the four old men interacted with God. How different from my relationship with God. I carry on the vast bulk of it myself; I would literally rather die than let an intermediary handle it. I go to church for teaching and to be among other Christians, not to let some seminary graduate process me like a Volvo at a car wash. For me, it’s all day, every day. The hour or two I spend at church on Sunday is just a small part of it.

The tedium was oppressive. After forty-five minutes, I was dying to leave. I thought the ceremony had to be nearly over, but I looked at the program, and we were still somewhere in the middle of it. We got in and out in two hours, but I felt like it was three.

Suddenly, toward the end, I remembered…this is how I used to feel in church! This was the misery that made me dread church when I was a kid. I was upset by it today, because my father was there with me, and as far as I know, he only enters churches for funerals. My sister and I have been hoping to persuade him to go to church, and here he was, in this incredibly lifeless and dreary place, suffering from boredom and alienation.

I really hated church when I was a kid. I had forgotten. I think alienation was a big reason. At the traditional churches my mother dragged us to, things were done by rote. Computers could have been programmed to do the whole business. Like Disney’s Hall of the Presidents. Past writings and set traditions have their place, but when you exalt them too much, you insult people who are alive today. You imply that their thoughts and feelings and contributions are worthless. Why should I go to church if everything of value has already been done and said, hundreds or thousands of years ago? Why not put it on a DVD so I can watch it without being inconvenienced? What is the point of making me attend in person?

If I had to go to a church like that, I think I’d stay home. I felt trapped, like a claustrophobic in an MRI machine. No wonder so many churches are losing members. It’s painful to sit through that kind of thing, unless your boredom threshold is extraordinary. When I was a kid, I seriously believed that salvation was partly a reward for enduring one hour of utter misery every week. Now I have a refreshed understanding of why I felt that way.

When I go to Trinity Church, I look forward to it for two days before the service. I look forward to it on the drive. I’m relieved when I get there. I can’t wait to hear the sermon. I love the teaching. I love the warmth of the people, and their proactive approach. They come up to you and talk to you. If you’re up at the altar for some reason, a total stranger may put his or her hands on your shoulders without warning and pray for you. They invite you to get involved with church programs. They laugh. Couples sit pressed against each other. Last week we sat behind a mixed middle-aged couple, and the man had his arm around his wife the whole time. And you can literally feel God’s presence every time you go, surrounding you and rising up inside you. I always hate leaving, because I want to stay where that sensation is. On top of that, it seems like some funny coincidence happens on the way home, every time, which turns out to be a remarkable and unexpected blessing.

The new churches have their failings. They sometimes verge on heresy. They make mistakes. They don’t do a good enough job, keeping hucksters out of the pulpit. Sometimes they emphasize blessings above duty. But they are getting better, and anyway, I can’t imagine joining a church like the one I visited today. Not after what I’ve seen elsewhere. Honestly, I admire people who go to bloodless, gloomy churches where empty pomp and pageantry are passed off as evidence of God’s imprimatur. Those people have more self-discipline than I do. I do not have the strength of character to go to a church where I am miserable and feel nothing. Given the choice, I’d go to the other extreme and attend a place where people roll in the floor.

Besides, if you want to hear about error, consider this: the church I went to today ordains gays. So it’s pretty clear how much reverence they have for God’s will and the clear language of the Bible. A church that endorses sexual sin is not a good place to go for spiritual guidance. A church is supposed to lead society; a church that endorses gay sex is following. Wait and see. Any error society embraces will eventually be accepted openly by this church. Society’s approval is what matters to them. Jesus, on the other hand, told his followers the world would hate them, and that it had hated him first.

It’s peculiar; in its rites and prayers and hymns, the church I went to today is frozen in the very distant past. But its doctrine comes from the present day. Forget the Torah; forget the Gospels. Make up new stuff that doesn’t offend! Crib from Oprah! Let MTV be your guide!

If this church had real power and life in it, it would be attracting members without compromising. Because the power and life are gone, it has to resort to pandering. It’s spiritual promiscuity; a church like that is like a loose woman who offers whatever she has to, in order to attract men. No wonder the Bible uses words like “whoredom” and “adultery” to describe churches that adopt the policies of the unbelieving world. And really, why go to church to learn how to behave like non-Christians? If you want the real non-Christian experience, go to bars and movies and strip clubs. People who have no interest at all in God are much better than a weak church, when it comes to helping you experience worldly pleasures. Do it right; go to the experts. If I lose my faith and decide the Bible is wrong, I’ll be in the brothels and topless bars as often as possible. I won’t be hanging around with a bunch of confused clergymen who are no fun whatsoever.

If you’re a Christian and you quit going to a traditional church because you just could not stand it, or because you realized there was almost nothing there, you really need to give the newer churches a try. I wouldn’t try to persuade an active member of a traditional church to change, but if you find church boring and lifeless, and you can’t find the strength to attend, you might find that there are churches available now that suit you better than you ever thought possible. Please don’t judge every church by the awful experiences you’ve had in the past. If you quit going to church because you thought God should be exciting and powerful and a source of joy, you were right, and there are churches where you can find the God you wished existed. He is there waiting for you.

Compressor Confusion

Figure this out for me. I’m elaborating on an earlier post.

The classic air dryer for cheap metalworkers is the Maxhootue/Harbor Freight job. Same compressor, different sellers. “Maxhootue” is an Ebay user who sells them. They are rated up to about 21 CFM @ 140 psi. I keep my compressor’s pressure switch set at 175, and I never raise the output pressure above 125, although I suppose there is no reason why it couldn’t pump more than 21 CFM at the lower pressure. It’s probably at 90, now that I think about it.

I don’t really know how much it blows. It does 17.4 at 175. Presumably, the pressure and volume relationships are linear and so on (Ideal Gas Law), so you would think it would go up to maybe 25 CFM at 125 psi, with nothing connected. I am too lazy to use “calc.”

These things are made in China, but everyone, without exception, seems to like them.

Right now–do not ask me why–Grainger is selling a bigger drying machine for the same price as the Ebay job. It’s a Speedaire. Probably also made in China, but somewhat more reputable, and there is a local dealer I can raise hell with if it craps out. The Speedaire will do 40 CFM at 175 psi.

The odd thing about these machines is that they seem to work better at higher volume rates. It’s as if the big thing limiting the capacity is the compressor, not the dryer. Jack up the psi, and you get more CFM, and the dew point remains the same.

Okay, wait. If that’s how it works, then either compressor is fine for my needs. The figures must describe the unit’s ability to pass air, not its cooling ability. That would explain why more pressure gives more dry air, with no penalty for shoving more molecules through the system.

Now my head hurts. What if my compressor blows LESS air at 125? If it works the same way as the dryer, that’s what you’d expect.

Maybe I need to put bigger fittings and a bigger hose on this thing. Curtis recommends 3/4″ pipe for 20 cfm.

The Curtis materials say this thing blows over 16 cfm pretty much regardless of pressure, so I guess the 125 psi figure (assuming I’m not choking the machine) is about 16. How can that be? You would think it would suck matter in at the same rate, all the time, so it should also blow it out at the same rate, so you would think lower psi would equal more CFM. BUT APPARENTLY NOT.

Hmm…if they’re measuring at the inlet into the tank, it would make sense. No, it wouldn’t. Geez.

I am going to go dig out my diploma and confirm that I really have a degree in physics. Maybe I imagined it. I can’t believe I’m confused by this crap.

Anyway, I’m wondering if there is any point in getting the Grainger machine. The cost is the same, and it will be murderously effective even if I upgrade to a bigger compressor some day, and it probably has a warranty that actually functions. And resale should be high. On the down side, it weighs twice as much and is about the size of a 15,000 btu unit air conditioner. The Ebay thing appears to be roughly the size of a PC tower case.

How Low?

Here’s a tool question.

Sooner or later, I want to get an air dryer for my compressor. It will blow up to something like 17 SCFM at 175 psi. I keep the output at 125 psi or lower. It rarely goes above 95 degrees here, and it is extremely unlikely that I would trouble myself to work at that temperature anyway. The lowest temperature I am likely to put up with is probably 60 degrees, although it’s possible that I will move farther north, and that there may be times when I would want to use the compressor at lower temperatures. I very much doubt it, though, because I’d probably put a heater in the shop.

What dew point do I need? It looks like the choices are 38 and 50 degrees Fahrenheit. I don’t see myself doing any painting, but plasma cutting and sandblasting are likely to happen.

I think the little Harbor Freight machines are probably good enough. Everyone seems to like them. But sometimes you see something really nice on Ebay or Craigslist, for less money.

Polite Dissent

The Jews often use the phrase “cheap grace” to describe the salvation Christians receive through faith. And it is completely understandable. Many Christians believe that once you ask for salvation, you can pretty much do as you please in this life. It’s all forgiven, in advance. That’s not a hard bar to clear, especially when you compare it to the obligations observant Jews deal with. Six hundred and thirteen commandments. Kashrut. Ritual bathing. A dress code. A single day to prepare for funerals. The Jewish path is clearly harder.

As far as I know, it’s true that a Christian receives salvation upon asking and believing, and I think it’s very hard–maybe even impossible–to lose it. So maybe you can get away with your worldly, underdeveloped lifestyle. At the same time, it’s no way to live, and there is a huge cost. The Bible says over and over that you can’t enter the kingdom of God if you don’t live right. Does that mean heaven? I don’t think so. I think it means you can’t experience God’s presence and protection and guidance in this life. You can’t have his power in your life. And the Bible mentions two books kept by God. One is a list of people who are saved, and the other is a list of people’s deeds. So while you may enter paradise, there will still be some sort of cost for your sins, and it will not be trivial.

That’s the best interpretation I have come up with.

I believe–and Aaron says observant Jews believe the same thing–that when you pray, you don’t just ask for things. You search yourself. You look for things you may have done wrong, and attitudes you have that may be counterproductive. Aaron says that one of the Hebrew verbs translated “pray” is reflexive, because it’s a self-directed process. Look at the Psalms, most of which are prayers. They ask things of God, but they’re full of confession, contrition, and repentance.

I think God often answers prayer, even when people’s hearts and deeds are not quite right with him. But I also believe that bad acts and attitudes can prevent prayers from being answered, whether you pray for yourself or for others.

The Bible seems to confirm this. Over and over, the prophets tell us we can’t expect God to be good to us, if we have not been good to him and to other people. Malachi tells the Jews their prosperity will be ruined because they don’t tithe and they cheat God with flawed sacrifices. The Babylonian captivity resulted from idolatry. Paul said that a man who slept with his father’s former wife was to be turned over to Satan for the destruction of his flesh. The things we do in this life matter.

My mother died from cancer. Naturally, I prayed for her. And she had a fairly encouraging prognosis. I had experienced healing in my own life, so I believed she could receive it, too. I believed, as hard as I could.

I flew to Miami to visit her. She seemed to be doing fairly well. There was still hope. I got on a plane and flew back to Texas. And I kept praying. And then I committed a sin. I’m not going to say what it was. It doesn’t matter. But it was a bad thing for a man in my position to do. Here I was, believing for a miracle. Yet I acted like someone who didn’t believe in consequences.

I lost contact with my mother during this time. They moved her to a new hospital room without telling me. I wasn’t too worried. I had my faith. But after I had been in Texas a couple of days, I got a call. My mother was dying. Fast. I had to fly back to Miami. When I arrived, she was unconscious.

I believed and believed and believed. I believed so hard, I didn’t really feel it when she died. It didn’t seem real to me. But it was real. She was gone.

Ever since then, I have wondered. Would she have received a miracle, had my life been right?

With this in mind, I visited Mish Weiss’s blog last night and posted a comment, in an effort to help. It looks like her bone marrow graft did not work, and she is trying to decide whether to try a new chemotherapy drug or to take a cruise and die. I put a prayer request on my blog, and I posted a comment, asking if there might be anything going on in her life that might hinder the effort. I specifically stated that I was not blaming her for her illness. But I was concerned about Mish, who continues to have problems in spite of a veritable prayer army, and I felt that I had to ask the question.

Someone I will not name came here and found a post about Mish, and here is the comment she left:

How can you be so cruel or ignorant to suggest Mish is somehow responsible for her own illness? As a Christian you should have read Job (the chapter) at least once in your life. God plainly tells us Job wasn’t responsible for the things that came upon him. If you really want to do something for her why not be a real witness to her? Because true Christians know the only way anyone can EVER get their prayers answered is through JESUS CHRIST yet you conveniently left that out!!! No, all you care to comment about is how good looking she is, and how she maybe needs to repent in order to not be sick. What about her soul??? With milk toast Christians like you, no wonder our Earth is fast going to Hell in a handbasket. If you feel bad, you should with ignorant comments such as yours.

This must be that agape love we Christians are always bragging about.

Let’s see. First, I take issue with the claim that Job wasn’t responsible for the things that came upon him. Job claimed he could defend himself before God, and that was a big mistake. No one can claim righteousness before God, and in his answer to Job, God made that clear. And when did God restore Job’s family and possessions? After Job repented of this attitude.

Do I think every bad thing that happens to a person is caused by that person’s sins? No. But some things are.

Second, I do not believe that “the only way anyone can EVER get their prayers answered is through JESUS CHRIST.” The Bible says God is near to all who call upon him. I think it’s better to believe in Jesus, but I would never claim that God doesn’t hear the prayers of Jews and other non-Christians. The book of Acts says the alms and prayers of Cornelius (a Roman official) had come up before God as a memorial, and this was after the crucifixion and the miracle in the upper room, at a time when Christianity was already in existence. And God transported Philip across the country to help the Ethiopian eunuch receive salvation; clearly God was concerned about this man, even though he was not a Christian. Furthermore, I believe that the Jews are still the apple of God’s eye, as did Paul. They have not been discarded or replaced, and they are central to God’s plans.

I don’t think Mish would benefit much from a comment screeching at her to accept Jesus. I have been around Jews all my life, and I don’t think this is the way to win them over. Jews are like big fish. Big fish are big because they have seen the bait before, and they have turned it down. You can’t convert them by hammering on them like a drill sergeant. I pray for my Jewish friends, and I try to keep a dialogue open and lead a good life that will draw their interest. I don’t know what I can do, beyond that. Fire and brimstone have been tried, and so has the Inquisition. They didn’t work too well.

Third, regarding the part about how all I care about is to comment about how good-looking Mish is, here is what I said: “You are a beautiful girl with a wonderful spirit, and I cannot believe this is what God has planned for you.” It seemed to me that reminding a sick person of her good qualities and her potential might encourage her to try to beat her illness.

I was afraid Mish would be offended by my comment, but I never dreamed it would make another Christian furious. Aren’t we supposed to be the patient and forgiving ones? Let me check my notes. I think it’s in there somewhere.

I truly believe my good and bad actions have observable effects in my life. A while back, someone criticized me for opining that my problems raising fruit had something to do with my nature. A fruit is pleasant, and often my own fruit–my deeds and words and thoughts–were on the sour or bitter side. It made sense to me that I had great success growing sour things like limes and caustic things like peppers, while my tangerines fell off the tree and my papayas tasted funky. I still think I’m right about that. Over and over the Bible refers to crops and fruit failing, and the references are literal as well as figurative. Why shouldn’t my failings be reflected in the condition of the things I try to grow? It happened to the ancient Jews time and time again. Am I somehow exempt from the principle?

By the way, the papayas are all better now, and my citrus trees are doing better and better. In fact, my cara cara tree has so many blossoms I don’t see how it can carry the fruit. I’ll post a photo. It’s amazing. I’ll probably have to cull a lot of the fruit to keep the tree alive. Crazy.

All those little white things are blossoms.

Anyway, I am no authority, but I recommend you not be satisfied with “cheap grace.” In reality, it’s not cheap at all.

Mish Weiss Setback

Mish Weiss has put up a very upsetting blog post. She says her doctor believes her bone marrow graft has not worked, and that she now has a choice between resuming chemotherapy or giving up.

Please pray for her. I have experienced healing, and so have others.

Problems

Wow, am I a bad welder.

I watched my MIG video again, and I got my metal ready, and I turned on the welder…and I made a disgusting mess. Spatter was all over the place. I ruined a tip right away. Then I realized I hadn’t turned the gas on.

Okay, new tip.

I started over. Not much better. I couldn’t see a thing. Very frustrating. When I stopped welding, the second tip was ruined, and there were big gloppy hunks of metal on the weld.

Evidently when I set the voltage and wire feed, I got my fractions mixed up in my head. I set it for 3/16″ instead of 1/8″, so the voltage was too high.

I turned everything down to what appeared to be the 1/8″ settings. Still couldn’t see diddly. Ruined a tip. Wandered around the joint.

Since then, I’ve been getting a lot of grinder practice. My theory: if you can grind really well, it doesn’t matter if you can weld.

Bad theory, I guess. Although adequate for a crappy mobile base.

I don’t know what’s going on. Maybe I have the helmet adjusted wrong. Maybe I read the wrong scale on the gas regulator.

I’m going to look the welder manual over, and then I’m headed to Home Depot for more nozzles and maybe even some overpriced metal to play with. The truth is out there.

More

Turns out the wire feed was too slow. Because I weld about once every eighteen months, I had forgotten how fast you’re supposed to go, and I was sure I was flying, so I slowed the wire feed down and moved the gun slowly. This caused the wire to melt back into the contact tip. This is known as “burnback.”

Bummer.

Web Phenom Keeps on Delivering

You have to see the new Rick Astley video. Click to play.