Better Tools

Well, no wonder.

I removed the blade from my miter saw. It was, evidently, the original. Although it was carbide tipped, the teeth were choked with pitch and there was something - plastic? paint? - smeared in concentric circles on one face. Ah, yes. This saw had been used to cut Pergo laminate flooring over a decade ago. The only use since has been feeding it the occasional 2x4 (the picnic table being the last project to use it).

Gee. Why would a filthy, forty-tooth Sears blade ever result in tear out when cross cutting oak?

While I'm learning how to clean up a circular saw blade, I decided to actually get something that (I hope) is up to the task. A 90-tooth Diablo high ATB blade.

When it doubt, blame the tool and move on. If anything, use it as excuse to buy better tools.

Kind Green

The first winter project of 2012 is complete. I painted Sarah's room.

Gone are the marks on beige walls. Marks made with pen, pencil, permanent marker, and worse. Now, her walls are a consistent Sherwin-Williams Kind Green. Trim is a semi-gloss white. The major gouges have been filled and sanded.

This weekend, I've started on my second project which is to build a woodworking bench incorporating a pair of base cabinets. The real lesson here to to learn how to make base cabinets. Mistakes are to be celebrated and studied.

I have already made one. I mistakenly figured that the old carbide blade in my miter would be good enough to crosscut oak. Bah! My cuts suffered tear out. I need to acquire a fine crosscut blade and put something sacrificial against the fence. That's the whole point of this exercise, though. No need to waste my time being ashamed of such things.

I hate wasting oak, though.

Ghosts of Punderson

Spent a lovely weekend at Punderson State Park with my daughter and the Medina Guides. The cabins were nice enough. The lodge perfectly Gothic in places.

We walked down a narrow, low hall and into the library. The library is a small, round room at the top of the rear tower. Opposite the stained glass windows was an oddly deep set bookcase. A line of books, six inches deep, were balanced at the front of a three-foot deep shelf.

Out of curiosity I reached behind the books and felt another. I was a thin volume of ghost stories. I turned to page twenty-four and began to read to the people with me the ghost stories of Punderson Manor. Set on the bank of a small, glacial lake the manor has had several reported ghost sightings and incidents.

I, for one, do not believe in ghosts. I could easily understand them given a spooky old building, with its sketchy plumbing and electrical systems, creaks and groans of its old timbers and shifting stone, the tricks of light through billowing curtains and small panes of glass. All manner of things could cause a person, alone, to believe that there were others, unseen, with them.

Too Many Projects

I love doing a winter project of some sort. That's how I finished the basement, trained the dog, built a computer - that sort of thing. This winter, I have just too many ideas in my head. Too many things that I yearn for.

The first thing that needs done is that I need to paint my daughter's room. We switched the kids' rooms this past summer and hers needs a new set of paint. Something of a grayish green, I think, would look good with her curtains.

After that, I get confused. I want new flooring, but I can't quite afford it right now. I need to refinish the upstairs bathrooms and would like a custom cherry vanity and cabinets that match our kitchen. Which brings me to the point of wanting to make those things myself.

But I don't have the experience or the work space, so plan to handle both of those by making a new work bench using base cabinets as the, um, base. We also have a record player in the front parlor that needs a table, so perhaps I can make a table for it. Then I can tackle of bathrooms (or not, if I find my skill set or tools lacking). Which brings me right back around to the flooring.

I can probably save a considerable sum by doing the installation work myself. Or I can make a hash of it. Frightening uncertainty.

Having a long term, multi-tiered suite of projects isn't a bad thing, per se. The problem is that I find my interest in the flitting between one or another. It's hard to remain passionate about painting a room when you have visions of mauling hardwood dancing in your head. The other problem is if I do manage to complete these projects. I will be an insufferably proud SOB for months afterwards.

Hot Dog Shoppe

It was just like I remembered.

We had been on the road for eight hours. Coming from Connecticut, with a stop in the Hudson Valley for a snack lunch, we were tired and hungry when we saw the rotating, illuminated hot dog over the low buildings lining West Market St.

My father had worked at the post office a couple blocks further down and sometimes lunched there. I didn't go there often, maybe a couple times with my dad, but it hadn't changed. We rolled in around 6:30. It was already dark outside and there was a line along the wall waiting for seats to open.

Inside are several lunch counters, punctuated by a few small booths. As seats opened up, we took them in order. Parties such as mine, that wanted four seats together, let smaller parties grab pairs of open seats as they came free, waiting for four in a row or a booth. It didn't take long for us to be seated, nor did it take much longer for the line to dissipate. It's a popular place, but one where the diners churn quickly.

My daughter doesn't like hot dogs, but got one anyway to try. She liked it. My wife got two with sauerkraut. She's a New Yorker and still enamored with Nathan's hot dogs. What can I say? I was never a fan of either Nathan's nor Ted's Red Hots. I'm not a fan of Yuengling even though I like odd lagers. Tastes are funny things.

My son ate two and asked for more. I had three with sauce and forgot to ask for onions. Still, they were just like I had remembered. The homemade fries were hot and tasty. The shakes were thick and delicious. What else can you say about a place where you have to wait to sit at a Formica counter? They keep it simple, which is their strength and their charm.