It was Free, but it Has no Price

I had an unusual experience yesterday, and I thought I should share it.

My sister and I partnered on my dad’s Christmas gifts this year. A couple of years back, I got him a nice bicycle, and he rides it a lot. I thought he needed a decent set of panniers (saddlebags) for it, so he could take his laptop with him to the marina when he visits the boat. We got him a nice Tubus rack and some Ortlieb panniers. I don’t suggest you get these yourself. They are not cheap or even close to it.

Yesterday he asked me for help mounting the tube and bags, and I stopped what I was doing and went to his aid. I had intended to mount them myself, but he was impatient.

The instructions were horrible. In reality, they were not instructions. The rack materials had some printed directions that were not good, and the bags came with tiny diagrams. Maybe that’s what passes for instructions in Germany, where they were made. He wandered off somewhere, and I got the rack installed. Then we worked together on the bags. Very confusing, but we figured it out.

It took a surprisingly long time, but while we worked, I silently thanked God, because the problems gave us more time together.

The seat on the bike had snapped, and it wasn’t on warranty, so he had bought a new one. I installed that for him. He had had a flat tire, and he had had it fixed, so I put the rear wheel and repaired tire on the bike. We got him a special padded laptop bag to go inside the panniers, so we put that in the right bag, and we put his heavy Kryptonite lock in the left bag.

He got on the bike and started off to see how well it worked with the bags. Right away, we saw that his tires were low, so we fixed that. And off he went, slowly pedaling down the road.

I had the strangest feeling as I watched him. I thought back to the late Sixties, when Christmas brought me a bright red bike from Sears. I started out with training wheels, and before long I was riding around the neighborhood, out of my parents’ sight and back. Watching my dad, I realized how they must have felt as they turned me loose on that bike. He weaved a little, and he didn’t go too fast. He kept going and going, farther than I expected, down to an intersection. I wondered whether he would look for approaching cars. I realized that it must have been hard for them, watching me take off into the world, out of their protective grasp. I wished I could reach out and hold him up. I understood how it felt to know that someone you loved might not always be with you, no matter what you did. In some ways we are very powerless.

I also thought about the closeness we now have. It’s a new thing. A few years old. Unexpected. I hate to say it, but my mother’s passing opened the door and made it possible. Without her presence, we have had to deal with each other directly, face to face. She was not there to tell me how he was doing or call me on his behalf.

Twenty years ago, we rarely talked, and he was a hard person to be around. Now I have no closer friend. I’m so grateful. I believe my father didn’t really fall in love with my mother until shortly before she learned she had cancer. By then, there was nothing he could do to make up for the wasted years. Now he has to live with that. By the grace of God, I don’t have that problem with my father. I have been blessed with time to heal the wounds. I think I’m going to have enough time to get him to church. I truly believe that.

Good things keep coming to me. This is among the best. I wish my mother were here to share it, but I think we’ll share it with her eventually, when we are reunited. My sister is drawing closer, too. The horror of this family’s dysfunction is coming to a close. That is a rare gift. Generally, sick families get worse, and the best available remedy is for each member to try to have a healthy life while accepting that the others will never change. That is a sad subsitute for what we have been given.

Is this a testimony? I guess it is.

Don’t give up hope. Don’t give in to laziness and quit trying, to end the pain and frustration of caring. Surely God’s blessings were not crafted for a few special families here and there. Surely, if you try, you can find the help you need.

January 1 Without Pain

GOOD MORNING!!!

Sorry, did I hurt your hung-over eyeballs?

I know it’s not morning. Sadly, I was forced to stay up last night, so I got up very late, and this is why I’m putting my first post up in the afternoon. Fireworks used to be illegal in Florida, except for those silly “snakes” and sparklers, but they have been legal for a while now, and the result is that we get explosions on New Year’s Eve, continuing uninterrupted until about 1 a.m. So that’s when I went to bed, and I got up at TEN. I hate it. If I go to bed at my usual hour, this day will be shorter than a typical 1950s gladiator movie.

My routine is messed up, but I feel great. I didn’t drink last night, and I didn’t smoke. I’ve decided I’m going to have a policy of avoiding New Year’s parties from now on. I just don’t like them. I don’t get drunk any more, so if I go to a New Year’s party, here’s what the experience will amount to: hanging out with drunks while I am sober. Whee. Fun.

I have noticed a funny thing about Christianity. Very often, you find you need to give things up for one reason or another, and at first it seems like you’re missing out, and then later you’re extremely glad you made the change. The New Year’s thing is an example of that.

I used to get invited to New Year’s parties, and I was grateful that people thought of me, and the parties weren’t too bad, but there was always a sense of debauchery and guilt. You screw up your sleep pattern, you get drunk, you may wind up with a major sexual sin, and the next day, if you have kids, you probably neglect them and snap at them. You may find yourself driving home drunk; be honest. And it’s expensive, for some reason. If you go out, I mean. Here in Miami, they have parties that start at maybe $125.

The first time I failed to receive an invitation, I felt a little left out, but now I’m glad I don’t celebrate. I avoid a lot of things that leave me feeling empty and sort of grimy.

Yesterday the true nature of New Year’s Eve became clear to me. Do you know what it is? It’s a bachelor party that ruins the beginning of the year. Seriously. Bachelor parties ruin the beginnings of marriages, and New Year’s parties make sure new years get off to terrible starts.

I’m not condemning all bachelor parties. If your buddies take you out for a nice steak, that’s wonderful. I’m talking about drunken parties, and especially parties with strippers, many of whom–sorry to tell you, ladies–are really prostitutes. Strippers rub men’s genitals, they perform sex acts on themselves and each other, they strip completely nude, they allow photography so your future husband can have something to hide from you later, and in some cases, they do extra favors on an a la carte basis. This is not something you want, at the beginning of a relationship. Or ever.

And how many grooms will admit their strippers are prostitutes? Probably a small percentage. Why start a marriage with a cover-up?

Brides resent that type of bachelor party, and they have every right to feel that way. It’s infidelity, just like taking a prostitute to a hotel. Even if the groom doesn’t touch the strippers, it’s deliberate, premeditated infidelity of the heart. It’s a bad idea. I’ll go farther. It’s a filthy and contemptible thing to do. It shows how little respect you have for your bride, and how little empathy you feel for her. It’s cruel. It’s proof you don’t deserve a good wife yet. I didn’t realize this when I was younger, but it’s very clear to me now.

Getting plastered on December 31 is similar, because it assures that you start the new year in a bad humor, with a fresh burden of pointless sin on your shoulders. And you might wake up with a DWI.

I have another observation about New Year’s parties. They seem to be intended to fill a hole in people’s lives. People have outrageous hopes for December 31. They scramble to find parties to go to, as if they expect to experience ecstasy. It’s as if getting bombed and dancing and losing all your inhibitions is such a tremendous blessing, you would be crazy to miss out. It’s as if people have so few moments of happiness, they can’t risk missing these parties. I don’t feel that way. Maybe that’s because I now have joy in my life, without getting hammered. To me, a drunken party is not a pleasure to be anticipated with eagerness. It’s a major inconvenience. A drag. Like standing in line to get a driver’s license renewed.

Of course, I didn’t always have this attitude. When I was in college, I looked forward to a good drinking binge the way prisoners look forward to parole. I’ve probably gotten drunk as recently as 2007. And while I thought it was wrong to have strippers and filth at bachelor parties, I didn’t think it was a big deal.

Beginnings are important, and they are fragile, and we should protect them instead of treating them with contempt. That’s what I think. So keep the Champagne fountain and the rented limo; I prefer to get my rest so I can enjoy the next day.

Yesterday I said this holiday had no religious significance, and for the vast majority of people, this is true, but readers have chimed in with two corrections. First, some churches celebrate something called the Feast of Circumcision (a truly unfortunate name for a holiday), and some spend time honoring Mary. You learn something new every day. Well, every week, anyway. Most weeks.

I hope most of you are hangover-free today, so you can enjoy yourselves. The weather is gorgeous here in Miami.

Enjoy a Nice Glass of Ice Water With Me

I realize everyone already knows I’m a bad person, but let me remind you anyway, by pointing out that I am glad I’m not doing anything for New Year’s Eve.

New Year’s Eve has no religious significance. It does not pay respect to people who died in wars for us. It does not celebrate our independence from England, whereby we gained many rights, including the right to edible food and a full set of teeth. All this holiday does is remind us that we are old and mortal and give us a reason to get blind stinking drunk and stay up all night.

I don’t like staying up late. I am tired of being really drunk. I dislike loud music. I can’t stand having my sleep routine disrupted.

But I sure look forward to tomorrow morning, when the world will be quiet, the drunks will be off the road, and I will be the only person in my neighborhood who feels good.

Loneliest Nation on Earth

Tonight while Israel suffers alone, through what may be its last major battle under a relatively friendly American regime, let’s pray for her victory, and that a lasting and productive ceasefire will follow.

Aaron says Los Angeles synagogues are recommending that people recite Psalms 121 and 142. He pointed out that Psalm 121 is the one that is quoted on the wonderful plate I received from the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews. Here’s the psalm that came to my mind.

Psalm 3

Lord, how they have increased who trouble me!
Many are they who rise up against me.
2 Many are they who say of me,
“There is no help for him in God.”
Selah

3 But You, O Lord, are a shield for me,
My glory and the One who lifts up my head.
4 I cried to the Lord with my voice,
And He heard me from His holy hill.
Selah

5 I lay down and slept;
I awoke, for the Lord sustained me.
6 I will not be afraid of ten thousands of people
Who have set themselves against me all around.

7 Arise, O Lord;
Save me, O my God!
For You have struck all my enemies on the cheekbone;
You have broken the teeth of the ungodly.
8 Salvation belongs to the Lord.
Your blessing is upon Your people.

Here is Psalm 121.

I will lift up my eyes to the hills —
From whence comes my help?
2 My help comes from the Lord,
Who made heaven and earth.

3 He will not allow your foot to be moved;
He who keeps you will not slumber.
4 Behold, He who keeps Israel
Shall neither slumber nor sleep.

5 The Lord is your keeper;
The Lord is your shade at your right hand.
6 The sun shall not strike you by day,
Nor the moon by night.

7 The Lord shall preserve you from all evil;
He shall preserve your soul.
8 The Lord shall preserve your going out and your coming in
From this time forth, and even forevermore.

Get Ready

Here is my Christian crazy moment of the day.

In the book of Daniel, Nebuchadnezzar dreamed of a giant statue. The head was of gold, the chest and arms were silver, the belly was brass, the legs were iron, and the feet were iron mixed with clay. The different ingredients represented kingdoms which were to come. The gold represented Babylon, the silver represented the Medes and Persians, and so on. Many Christians think the iron represented Rome, and that “Rome” includes the modern West.

Here’s an idea which has been rolling around in my head for a long time. Is it possible that the mingled iron and clay represent the age of technology? After all, electronics are made from metals mingled with non-metallic minerals like silicon, which are found in soil. Clay is soil.

It’s also interesting that the materials degrade as time passes, suggesting that humanity itself deteriorates. Maybe our inventions and conveniences and wealth have made us soft and less virtuous than our forebears. Surely, we know less about God, since we are farther from creation.

Call me the Wood Whimperer

I didn’t get a whole lot of input on the planer sled idea, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s a done deal. One reader said it was a pain to set up, but compared to sacrificing a fourth of the garage for a jointer that will only plane small pieces of wood, that is a small problem.

As for planer choices, it sort of looks like a reconditioned DeWalt is the way to go. I just got a reconditioned router, and it appears to be unused. A new Ridgid or Delta planer costs about the same amount, but the Delta is not as good as the DeWalt, and the Ridgid is not as good as the Delta. And DeWalt offers a good warranty on recons. You can’t compare it to Ridgid’s lifetime deal, but you get a much better tool.

I have to think about a project, and I have to get the lowdown on obtaining wood. I’m interested in using free local live oak. Some people say it’s not very good, but I have seen bowls made from it, and they looked fantastic. Not as pretty as maple or walnut, but well worth the effort. I wonder if any of the exotic trees we have here are of any use. This town is full of Australian pines (casuarinas) which have very heavy wood, but some people say it’s useless because it cracks and warps as it dries.

I can just see me, jumping out of my dad’s SUV and wrestling people’s garbage into the back. That’s where live oak is found; in trash heaps.

I don’t know of any other hardwoods that grow down here, except for mahogany. We have no maples or hickories. Definitely no walnuts or pecans. The web says there are red maples in the Everglades, but I’ve never seen one in Miami. Believe it or not, citrus wood is supposed to be good for turning.

If I succeed in making even one box, everyone who reads this blog has to tug the forelock and acknowledge my prowess.

Jerusalem’s Antipode

I always like to annoy people by pointing out that Israel is pretty much the center of the world.

Want proof? Enter these coordinates into Google Earth and see where you go: 31°46’41.11″S, 144°45’52.00″W.

That is the antipode of the Temple Mount. If you stuck a pin in the world at the Dome of the Rock and ran it through the center of the earth, it would come out at that location. It is as desolate a place as you can imagine; the closest land mass is Rapa Iti, in French Polynesia. This watery non-location is more remote than Pitcairn Island, which is saying something. Not only is it way out in the center of the Pacific; it even manages to be centered when the S shape of the Pacific is taken into account. Rapa Iti itself is 880 miles south of Tahiti.

Interesting bit of trivia.

Further Confirmation for People Who Think I’m Nuts

This year I have been putting up pieces explaining various reasons I have for believing in God. I thought I’d toss another one out tonight. You may think I’m crazy after you read it, but there is a good chance you thought that already.

Please don’t take this the wrong way. It’s not intended to be gross, or to somehow reconcile Christianity with lewdness. And I didn’t hear it from a preacher; it occurred to me independently. I don’t know if anyone else has these ideas.

What happened during the Crucifixion? Jesus wore a crown of thorns. He was killed. At the moment of his death, the veil in the temple was torn down the middle.

Here is the story of the veil. It hung between the main part of the temple and the holy of holies. The holy of holies was the location of the Ark of the Covenant. Only Levites were allowed to approach it. They had to be male. They had to be unblemished, and in the Bible, an unblemished male symbolizes the sinless Son of God. They had to be ritually pure before they entered, because the presence of God was in the holy of holies–in any place where the Ark was located. If they were not fit to approach, they died. According to Aaron, the Jews used to tie ropes to the ankles of the priests in case they were killed by the virtue of God. The ropes were used to drag them out, because anyone who approached to remove the bodies could be killed as well.

The veil was very, very thick. It was many thicknesses of cloth, sewn together. Some sources say it was four inches thick. Some say more. In any case, it probably was not an insubstantial piece of fabric that could tear for no good reason. So why did it tear, and why was this mentioned in the Bible? What possible importance did it have? I think I can explain.

What happened when Jesus died? Human beings, who would otherwise have been destroyed and lost, became capable of receiving the Holy Spirit, maturing into godly beings of greatly improved character and faith, and receiving the promise of eternal life in the presence of God.

The Crucifixion was an act of fertilization. It imparted new potential to us, just as fertilization imparts new potential to human ova, which otherwise pass out of the body and rot. It allowed the Holy Spirit to enter us and cause us to grow and improve and turn into beings which can eventually leave our limited world and become part of a bigger one. Just as babies leave their small world and enter ours.

The things I’ve said so far are not particularly controversial. But when you put them together, you get something that will probably make people uncomfortable.

I believe the crown of thorns represented circumcision. I believe the veil of the temple represented the natural veil that exists inside a woman’s body before she first has sex. I believe the tear in the veil showed that humanity had been imbued with the seed of God and enabled to grow to be like him. Before the Crucifixion, only the priests and a few prophets could approach God. Afterward, that privilege became available to all of us, because we were cleansed by Christ’s blood, as the priests were cleansed before entering the holy of holies.

Jesus was God’s instrument of fertilization, just as men have instruments of fertilization. The tearing of the veil was like the tearing that takes place when a pure woman comes together with her husband. In relation to God, humanity is feminine. This is why the church is called the Bride of Christ. The temple represented the body of a woman, with the holy of holies as her most private area.

Here’s an odd thing that seems to fit in with this pattern of symbolism. Have you ever looked at the Ark? It’s a container with two angelic figures on top of it, facing each other. Google a picture of it. Now Google a diagram of a woman’s uterus and ovaries. You would have to be blind to miss the resemblance.

In Christianity, a believer becomes like the Ark. God comes to live inside us, gestating as we become more like him. His spirit puts his nature inside us, just as the Mosaic laws are present in the Ark in the form of the tablets on which the Ten Commandments are inscribed. At some point, it also contained Aaron’s rod, which represents the power of faith. It also contained manna, which probably represented God’s provision for our needs.

If you think about it, what Jesus accomplished was a lot like the competition to reach the ovum. There are many candidates for the title of redeemer and savior, but only one gets through and accomplishes the act.

This symbolic pattern is something that came to me a long time ago. It’s so clear, I can’t believe any of it is coincidental.

I thought about it tonight while I watched a Perry Stone video on the Rapture. He pointed out something fascinating. In his time, Jesus was the living ark. Perry Stone didn’t say that; it’s something people already believe. Here’s what Stone said: after Jesus died, two angels were found, one at each end of the slab where his body had rested. These angels were–or represented–the carved cherubim on the Ark of the Covenant. The carved cherubim sat on either side of the lid, which was called the mercy seat; it was the place where God’s spirit rested. The purpose of the angels at the tomb was to show that an earthly vessel containing God’s presence had sat between them.

That certainly makes sense to me. They had no other reason to be there. Jesus was gone; the tomb was empty.

I see symbolism like this all over the place. There is too much of it for it not to mean anything.

In other news, I think my best option right now is to get a small Delta planer and forget about jointers. I can fake jointing, but a planer is a near-must. I’m also thinking I need to look into a band saw. Why? Because a man who has a band saw, a maul, and wedges can make finished lumber from tree trunks. I live in a place where oaks and other trees are piled by the roadside all the time; it would be great fun to see if I could turn some of it into boxes or tables. And I would also be able to use boards from the property I inherited from my grandparents, if I ever got ahold of any. And there are a million other things a band saw can do.

My Portable 700-Pound Saw

I have to break down and get a wheeled base for the Powermatic 66. I can’t put the rails on, add a router insert, connect a shop-vac, or do anything at all of value until I can roll this baby around the garage.

Problem: the nearest available mobile base is in Pompano Beach, and they want $35 more for it than Amazon, which will also deliver it for nothing. My cheapness gene is shrieking.

I know what you’re going to say. “Weld one up!” That’s a fine idea, except that it wouldn’t be all that much cheaper than buying one. I don’t have enough steel. Maybe if I could scrounge up an old bed frame I could do it, but they are never around when you need one. And the main problem, really, is that I have no idea how to make one that will do what an HTC mobile base will do. An HTC 3000 will hold the saw a scant 3/4″ off the floor, and it will lower it when I get it where I want it.

I could buy a piece of thick plywood and add wheels, but the saw would be maybe 4″ taller than it is now.

I’m all excited about the idea of making a sled for a planer, to obviate the need for a jointer. My hope is to start out with very small wood projects, so I should be able to get by with a pretty small sled I can story without too much hassle. Boy, would that beat a huge machine taking up tons of real estate. And with over 11″ of capacity, I wouldn’t have the small-jointer blues.

The cabinet saw has a design feature I don’t understand. The bottom is wide open. So if you hook a vacuum up to it, most of the dust will bypass it and land on the ground. I wonder why it’s made that way. You would think they would have stuck a sheet of metal or something in the bottom. I suppose I can make something from hardboard. Hopefully the vacuum won’t suck it out of place.

I also have to make a motor cover. I can get one from Powermatic, but everyone says they’re awful, so I think quarter-inch plywood is the way to go.

There must be something I can do right now. I guess the motor cover and some throat plate inserts are within my reach.

I talked with my sister today. She swears she’s quitting smoking. Man, what a relief. My mother died from lung cancer. My aunt. Two great-grandmothers. My uncle died from stomach cancer which may have been caused by smoking and snuff. Enough is enough.

We both have the feeling that this family is walking out of a dark tunnel together. How strange it is, talking to her about things like this. A year ago, I thought there was no hope for our relationship. Now we go to church together and buy each other Bibles and Bible software. It gives me hope that we will eventually get my dad into church, and maybe we’ll be able to help other members of our family who are not as close to God as they should be.

There is nothing like taking a negative relationship and turning it into a positive one. You lose a spiritual and emotional drain, and you turn it into a source of strength and faith. It puts you two ahead on the ratio of positive to negative relationships, because you lose a bad relationship and gain a good one. Mathematically, it’s far better than just forming a new bond with a new person.

These days I look forward to hearing from her. In the past, I did not, because it usually meant there was going to be friction. When she kept to herself, I was happy. That was all I asked of her. Now we go places together, and we talk about our hopes for the future. An enormous source of stress is gone from my life, and presumably, from hers. Only God could do something like this.

Guess I better make a decision about that mobile base.

Cheap = Good

I love Taunton.com. I pay a piddling sum every year, and they let me root through their PDF articles. They also have videos.

Today I found a great article. A woodworker named Gary Rust (good thing he’s not a welder) invented a sled you can use to run warped boards through a planer. It will give you one flat, milled side. Then you flip the wood over and plane the other side without the sled.

This is fantastic. Not only can you avoid buying a jointer; you can use a $350 planer to plane boards nearly a foot wide. Yes, I said “plane.” Let’s be serious; that’s what a jointer does.

Grizzly’s cheapest 8″ jointer costs $700 plus shipping, and it’s merely a Grizzly, and it’s gigantic. This guy’s sled will do bigger boards, and it costs $20.

Here’s what I want to know. Why isn’t somebody patenting and selling this? Too late now; he put it in a magazine article. But he could have made some money. I would have been thrilled to pay between fifty and a hundred bucks for a simple, compact tool that would let me avoid buying a jointer.

If this thing works, it means you can plane and thickness your wood on your planer, square up the edges with your table saw or even a circular saw and track system, and avoid the jointer altogether.

Turn Off the Monitor and Get me a Sedative

Everyone who thinks I got a good deal on the Powermatic 66, take a look at this: CLICK. That’s an old Walker-Turner cabinet saw, for $195. Pretty cool.

I don’t know much about Walker-Turner, but I’ve heard about their tools, and I haven’t seen any critical remarks, except that their table saws are on the underpowered side. But that’s what new motors are for.

There is also an ad for a “commercial” Powermatic table saw in Hialeah, for $200. I hope it’s a pile of rust!

I read a little bit about planers and jointers yesterday. I drew two conclusions. First, if you can’t have both, a planer is better than a jointer. Second, sooner or later, you will need an 8″ jointer.

It’s kind of weird. The most popular size for a jointer is 6″, but I am told that most of the lumber you will want to mill with it will be about 7″ wide. I don’t know much about the way jointers work; maybe you can take a 7″ board and run it through a 6″ jointer twice, to get the whole thing done.

People are telling me the old Delta jointer I pointed out yesterday is probably a good buy. It’s something to think about. I linked to a giant Powermatic as a joke,  but I can’t see buying one, unless I find it within a block, and the owner is willing to help me wheel it over here. And it would take up a whole lot of room. The Delta looks small enough to hide by a garage wall.

Doug Stowe says he uses a combination jointer and planer, to save room.

Maybe someone in my area will retire and sell one cheap!

Of Solid Iron

I leveled up the wings on the Powermatic 66 today. I watched a woodworking video where the guy used clamps and straight pieces of wood, and I tried his technique. You set a straight piece of wood across each joint on a wing, and you put a clamp on each side of the joint. In theory, this pulls the wing level with the table. Didn’t work for me. The wings just sat there. So I used the wood and clamps for support while I leveled the wings by eyeball.

I needed the wings level so I could reattach the rails. But I learned something interesting. I don’t know how the rails go back on. There are all sorts of screw holes in the rails, so they’ll go on in a number of ways. Photos generally show rails set up so the front rail’s end is about at the left edge of the left wing, but I have to wonder, is that mandatory? Can I put the saw more toward the center of the rails?

I was actually wondering where the tube was supposed to go, but then I realized the graduations tell you where the saw blade is supposed to be, relative to it. I’m so smart.

I plan to saw up my old computer desk and stick it between the rails as a tablesaw insert, as soon as I can figure out where the rails are supposed to be.

The screws that hold the rails on are not in great shape. The saw’s previous owner broke a number of them. Guess Home Depot can replace them.

I considered buying a new miter gauge, but I decided against it. The old ones are usable, and I have become suspicious of fancy new tools, like the Incra gauge everyone loves. Better to see what miter gauges do, before spending money on them. I notice that the guys in the woodworking videos don’t have a lot of high-dollar, overly sophisticated stuff. Doug Stowe uses an ancient Atlas tablesaw, a plain old miter gauge, and a bunch of homemade sleds and jigs to do his thing.

From looking at my cousin’s shop, I can see that I didn’t even need the Powermatic 66. I could have done fine with a Home Depot contractor saw. BUT the contractor saw would have cost more than the Powermatic 66, so the choice was clear.

Uh oh. Look at THIS: CLICK.

I wonder if that thing can be brought back to life. I’m scared of used tools, but that one, like a table saw, is probably not too complicated. Maybe I’m wrong. Dang, for a hundred bucks, how bad could it be?

Here’s something really awful: CLICK.

I’m quitting now.

Welcome to Tools of Renewal

I finally got my site working again. My advice to those of you who think you may have to move a WordPress blog in the future is, delete your blog and go have a pizza. I had problems I could not have anticipated. Even if I were smart.

Now I’m back. Let the festivities resume.

Same Owner, New Management

I’ve been screwing around all day, getting it together after the Frostproof trip. My sleep schedule was disrupted up there, so I got up at 8:30. What a luxury. I had to pick Marvin and Maynard up from the bird hotel, and when I got home, packages started arriving. The dust door for the Powermatic 66. The Dewalt router my dad got me for Christmas. The 50-amp plug for the Powermatic.

I got the plug installed in about ten minutes. It would have gone faster, but I had cleaned the power cord with stuff made to put a shine on tires, and as a result, handling it made my hands very slippery, even though it’s dry. But I succeeded, and then I crammed the plug into the receptacle, hoped for the best, and hit the magnetic starter. The saw began without hesitation, throwing a considerable amount of dust into my face. It seems like there is no way to get all the dust out of that thing. It makes more while I sleep.

But it runs! It’s very quiet, too. Of course, it was only cutting air. Wood is louder. I’m not sure the blade is running as true as it should. But that can be fixed.

The dust door popped right in. I can see why the old one was gone. They have no hinges. They’re held in by a tab on one side and a latch sort of a thing on the other side. When you open the latch, the door comes completely off.

I am getting so much satisfaction from this saw. And I haven’t even used it yet. Just getting it here was a miracle.

I had to order the router myself. I decided to take a chance on reconditioned. I had read that the overwhelming majority of reconditioned power tools were unused, and that they were often better than new tools, because they had been sent back and looked over, getting more attention than the usual run of merchandise. The router looks great. I see no signs of use, although it looks like it may have been handled.

This is supposed to be a super-fantastic router. Better than the Bosch equivalent. I had my big Bosch in the lift, and that meant I had nothing to use freehand. Now that problem is fixed. I hope I don’t get addicted to expensive bits.

I am planning to do the URL switch right away, so there may be a short time during which you can’t access my blog. I know this will be devastating to you, but try to be strong and get over it.

Last night, it kept coming home to me, how much I preferred the new URL and name. My life is not inclined toward the negative any more, so why have a blog name that reflects a negative, counterproductive attitude? I’m also going to get rid of the pig logo, which most people hated anyway.

The Internet is a nasty place. It’s full of venom and bitterness and filth. It brings out the worst in us. I succumbed to that. I contributed to it. Now I want my site to be a refuge, where decent people don’t have to worry that they’ll be offended or corrupted.

We will see how that works out. I know a lot of people are disappointed in the turn the site has taken, but this is not a business, so I don’t really care. I have been taking this attitude since what, 2006? I still remember telling my editor not to mention this site on the cover of my first book.

Okay, this entry is going up, and then I’ll have to call my hosting company. Say goodbye to Hog on Ice.

Magical Town Where no One Gives You the Finger

I had an utterly fantastic weekend, and I am here to blog about it.

Before I even start, let me say that I have learned that being a curmudgeon is overrated. These days, I get up in the morning and literally get down on the floor and acknowledge God, and every night before I go to bed, I get down there again and thank him for a wonderful day, and I always mean it. And it doesn’t seem to matter what happened that day; in retrospect, it always seems wonderful. I hope I have that same feeling at the end of my life.

Being happy is something I highly recommend. While there is a certain amount of pleasure to be had from griping and criticizing, it’s not nearly as good as talking about how great things are going.

Where was I this weekend? Frostproof, of course. Home of my great Aunt Gladys, who is about to turn 93.

Unfortunately, due to FTP issues and laziness, I have many old blog entries which are not on my server, and one of them details my first visit to Frostproof. I’ll go over the basics again. Around Christmas of 2006, my dad started bugging me to go visit his 90-year-old aunt in Central Florida. I thought he was insane. I believe in showing respect to older relatives and so on, but he was trying to get me to go stay in her house. I pictured a frail old lady, having heart palpitations because of the stress of caring for two grown men. And I had never met her–didn’t even know who she was–and I didn’t understand why we should go spend time with a total stranger.

I agreed to go, because I was trying to be a better Christian and honor my father and so on. And as is so often the case when you do a thing like that, I ended up doing myself a bigger favor than I intended to do him. I met one of the most remarkable people I have ever known.

Gladys could pass for 75. Her hair is thick and silvery, not white and sparse. She sees well. She hears well. Her memory is phenomenal. When you converse with her, she reacts as quickly as a young person. And she’s physically active. She can’t sit still.

Gladys does, or has done, just about everything. She knows how to kill, scald, dress, can, render, and cook a hog. She can shoot. She can fish. She is a highly skilled woodworker, and her house is full of furniture she made. Her house is as clean as a hospital. She gardens. She knows how to build a house.

She and my great uncle Isaac moved to Frostproof–up in the citrus country–after they retired, and after he passed away, she was joined there by her son Steve and his wife. They live in a separate building behind her house, with a complete wood shop.

My grandfather died when my dad was 11, so I never knew him, but he was one of her favorite people, so she takes a great interest in me and my father. She was excited to meet me, and I guess she had been waiting to meet me for over four decades, and I didn’t even know who she was.

So anyway, she invited us up there for another visit this year, and we just went.

I can’t tell you what a strange experience it is to talk to these people. She has three kids. One is a writer. Another is a mechanical engineer. Another sings in the chorus of a major orchestra; her husband was in the horn section before he retired. The writer does metalworking and restores cars. The ME is a woodworker, and he cooks. The singer has–no joke–a 28-year-old African grey, plus three other parrots.

If you know me at all, you understand how odd this is. I am like no one in my mother’s family. Not in my interests, at least. I am a writer. I studied physics in college and graduate school. I am fascinated by music and tools. I wrote a cookbook. And of course, I have an African grey and a cockatoo. It’s crazy, how much I have in common with these cousins.

We got up there yesterday at around 1:30, I think, and she kept us up until nearly midnight. I almost had to beg to be allowed to drive to the motel to sleep. We returned at maybe 9:30 a.m., and she was still going full-throttle when we left at 4:30.

It’s amazing, watching her talk. All around her, younger people are sitting still. While she talks, she gestures constantly with the cane her kids make her carry. She grabs things absent-mindedly and handles them while she talks. She takes people by the arm or wrist and squeezes forcefully while she makes points. This afternoon, she dropped her cane, and she bent down and got it off the floor before I could.

Steve showed me his wood shop. It broke my heart. He built his own cyclone dust collector. He has a magnificent PVC system running all over the ceiling. It goes to a shiny new Grizzly bandsaw, a Ridgid planer, a Craftsman radial arm saw, a Craftsman contractor table saw with homemade router insert, an ancient drill press, and a spinning table housing a lathe, a grinder, and a miter saw. When you turn a crank, the miter saw disappears and the lathe pops up. And he has a 225-amp stick welder in the corner. Someone gave him a bunch of rough live oak boards, and they’re piled near the door.

The walls are covered with clamps and gouges and chisels. All hanging within easy reach.

His grandsons were visiting, and they were working on projects with him. What a great thing to share with your kids and grandkids.

Gladys showed me photos of their house in Indiana (like a lot of educated people from Eastern Kentucky, they had to leave in order to succeed). They bought a seedy-looking frame house, added a third to its width, put a columned porch on the front, and put a three-acre lake behind it. When they got done with it, it was as if they had rebuilt it from the ground up.

All day long, I kept thinking, “This is what you can achieve when your family isn’t dysfunctional.” When a man and his wife are a team, and they treat each other with love and respect, and they share interests, nothing is impossible. Your careers go well, your kids turn out well, and your home will be something you are proud to show off. I can’t imagine what it must be like to live like that. It was inspiring.

I got some pointers from Steve. He thinks my next tool buy should be a planer. He thinks it’s more important than a jointer. And I love that homemade cyclone. He says the explosion risk is nil, because the velocity is too low. He showed me a neat trick for cleaning the air, apart from the cyclone. He put an air conditioner filter on a box fan. As the air in the shop goes through it, the dust stays in the filter.

Some people do the things they dream about, and others sit on their butts and watch. I would really like to give woodworking a try before I die. I’m sure I could make some small doodads that would bring me great satisfaction.

Sorry I didn’t announce that I was going. I think it’s stupid to put a message on the Internet, telling the world your house is empty.

In other news, I am planning to change my domain and URL. I am tired of “Hog on Ice.” A hog on ice is a person who is unteachable and determined to continue repeating his mistakes. That’s what the expression means. That’s not me any more. Maybe tomorrow I’ll get the new URL working.

I’m going to Google real estate in Central Florida. I can’t stand it. Miami is crowded, hot, and full of rude people. I am sick of it. I really don’t understand what people see in this place.

There is a reason for all this. I am telling you, there is a reason. My life is just not the same these days.