A Pig with a Broom

I spent one summer in college working as a musician at a theme park in Arkansas, and I got to know a professional animal trainer. He was only about my age, but he was so good with animals that he had his own animal show, probably the most popular show at the park because it had a pig that could sweep sawdust from the floor with a broom, pick it up with a dust pan, and put it in a waste basket. After watching the show a few times I learned that few things will delight a tourist more than seeing a pig with a broom it its mouth.

I became the animal trainer's friend and often went to have lunch with him and his parents on a farm with probably a dozen dogs, many of whom were in the show. I was amazed at how he talked to them and how they listened. But, I asked him, what about the pig?

He claimed the pig was actually his younger brother, who after a normal childhood slowly transformed into his present form. Not only could this pig handle a broom, he told me, but he also played poker and drove a pickup truck. At the time I doubted the trainer's honesty, but recent experience with our puppy's super-human intelligence have caused me to reconsider the possibility of transmogrification. I have some theories about the puppy...

Sometimes in woodworking you also have to make do with what life gives to you. My baseboards, for example, started out in my mind with a certain shape, but circumstances are transforming them into something else altogether. I pictured the top trim pieces with some graceful curves and cuts, but I'm not having much luck and patience is running out and I don't want to drive down to Home Depot yet again in pursuit of router bits that may or may not work out, and did I mention about my patience running out.

I may well end up with a pig.

Crown Moulding Milestone Party

The crown moulding is up, and Willow was on hand for our milestone celebration. As much as I hate to admit it, I get all warm inside when she gives me a smile and a job well done. What a sucker I am.

The puppy is away for his first day at espionage school (for all I know) with Cheryl, starting classes in French and Urdu and whatever martial arts the little guy needs (I'm afraid to ask), leaving Willow and me alone and back in the routine we had known for years, back before the puppy came into our lives.

So today in the puppy-less silence of this house, Willow is sleeping by my chair. She follows me up and down the stairs, in and out of the guest room, into the kitchen for coffee, down to play the piano, everywhere.

Cheryl and I knew that the puppy would upset the balance of our lives, like a fourth person stepping onto a row boat of three. Things are getting steady now and comfortable, but I worry that I don't pay enough attention to Willow. And for her part, I know that Willow wanted to point out the flaws, one by one, of the crown moulding and to give me a hard time, but today she didn't.

Next I will do the baseboards and then finish the curved area around the door. Getting closer.

Talkers

I've spent the better part of the last few days watching Ted Kennedy's funeral. While we expect Barack Obama and other politicians to be eloquent and engaging speakers, is it really normal that the young Kennedy children--an array of grandchildren, nieces and nephews--could each approach the microphone with ease and speak with natural grace in front of hundreds of people and TV cameras? Is this a genetic trait, an inherited ability to be poised and polished and cute and charismatic and natural all at once?

I was an intensely shy kid, and I remain uneasy speaking in public today. In school I remember sitting nearly paralyzed after a teacher asked the class to tell us about your summer. Kids got up, one after after, yacking with ease while my heart pounded in my ears. I was not sure if I would be able to speak at all when my turn came. But this was and is just my nature. While I admire outgoing and personable people, I am comfortable with my shyness and would not have things any other way. Besides, there are more than enough loud talkers in the world.

At the burial site, the priest read a letter that Kennedy had written to the Pope just a few weeks ago. In it, Kennedy admits that he had not lived a perfect life but had tried to atone by pursuing, in a literal sense, a Christian agenda: compassion for the poor and sick, and in particular he mentioned his long-time pursuit of universal health care. It was such a simple and sincere letter, and so powerful, that it will surely surface during the upcoming policy debates. (And just now I saw the letter quoted on Meet the Press.)

Interesting that such a charismatic and eloquent speaker might, in the end, best help his cause by something he had written in private.

Anyway, back to work. I've finished sanding and have installed half of the crown moulding. More later.

Sanding the Scars

The crown moulding is taking longer than expected, mostly because of the annoying scars on the curved portion of the wood, scars that were created when I pushed the wood over the saw at an angle. Every little imperfect move I made, every breath I took, amplified into gouges and cuts, and these must be sanded out, and some are pretty deep. I can't use the power sander because of the curve, so this all must be done by hand.

I'm not complaining--I love the swish, swish of sandpaper on wood. My problem now is a little CIA-engineered, zen master, secret agent puppy who needs my constant attention. Explain to me how a dog can speak 6 languages, do calculus, send emails, but still cannot resist chewing on shoes, towels, chair legs, table legs, hands, feet, etc. Well, Cheryl won't have to go to school tomorrow, so maybe I can do some sanding.

Cutting a Curve

After running away from Home Depot like a little girl Saturday, I went back on Sunday to pick up the wood. (To be honest I went to Lowes so that I wouldn't have another chance encounter with the bearded man.)

I got the wood home and put design on a fast track, focusing first on the curve. Wood workers in the past cut curves into wood by using special curved blades. Today you can quickly create a curve by running the boards over the table saw at an angle.

You might guess that circular saws came into existence with the first power tools, but they've been around since the 18th century when they were used to cut off the thumbs of fornicators. A good knife is probably best for fornicators today.

I lined up my new wood outside and decide to just do it--create my angle cuts and then the curves for my custom crown moulding. This all went quickly enough at first. Then I got to a tricky part and asked Cheryl for some help. Dressed in a black skull-happy-face T-shirt, white Capri pants and a smart-looking dust mask, she looked so cute that I forget why I even needed any help. In fact, I'm pretty sure I didn't actually need help but was just getting lonely outside. It's a good thing she enjoys this sort of work (click on the picture to make it larger).

Meanwhile Willow and Bingo practiced yoga in the living room (with Willow mostly just watching) followed by some meditation and power napping. Nothing was ever said about the unusual man in Home Depot, and the project continues as before, except that I am certain the puppy now has his orders.

First Contact

I should have been suspicious this morning when Bingo, our new puppy, told me that he wanted to ride with me to Home Depot and pick up the wood for my crown moulding. Considering how cozy he and Willow have been lately, I figured he wanted to come along to keep an eye on me, probably to make sure I didn't spend too much money or buy something that was not on my so-called approved list of purchase items. Or possibly, I could hope, the little guy just wanted to get to know me better?

While I browsed through the stacks of pine, Bingo seemed distracted, looking back and forth as though he expected someone to appear. Soon I noticed, through the corner of my eye, a familiar looking man approaching--a bearded man who seemed out of place and too sophisticated for his work cloths and dusty boots, like some actor on his way to a Tennessee Williams play. "Very nice," the man said as he passed behind me.

For quite a while I stood frozen, though I can't say why. maybe it was his voice. Then I left the store without buying anything.