The Jack Plane

More than 20 years ago I packed up my stuff and moved to Arizona with the notion that I'd become a newspaper person, except the newspaper didn't want me, so I applied for a job as a technical writer for an aerospace company. On the last page of the application I was instructed to write a few paragraphs on a technical subject--anything at all.

As my subject I chose the jack plane, my very favorite carpentry tool, and one that has been around for thousands of years. Today, they are made completely of steel, but years ago they were all wood except for the metal cutting blade that sticks out from the bottom and that shaves wood into transparent ribbons.

I'm using one now because the replacement boards in my office are a bit thicker than the floor. The jack plane is the perfect tool for this problem, though people tend to use sandpaper instead.

The idea is simple--a little tongue of steel sticks out the bottom just a bit and scrapes away the wood, turning an uneven edge into a smooth one.

The concept is both simple and impossible, and there are profound philosophical issues to consider, and years ago, sitting in a room and filling out my job application, I knew that the company did not care to hear about the existential nature of a carpenter's plane. No, they just wanted to see if I could write clearly. By getting cute, I could very well lose the job.

More later.

The Office Floor

For the past several years I've been sitting in my office chair and staring at a piece of termite-eaten flooring. Someone made a half-hearted attempt at repairing it, but anyone could see the ugly truth. So, part of the hallway project is to fix the floor in my office.

That board is really long and only the end is damaged, so I picked a spot in the middle and began to chisel it in two. I love chiseling wood. Clean and sharp downward cuts, then shave off the side. I even bought a grinding wheel so I could sharpen my chisels super sharp. How much fun is a person allowed to have?

After I cut my way through the board, I chiseled out the inside portion of the piece to be removed. Otherwise, the tongue and groove on the sides would prevent it from being budged.

OMG, I love this!

Clean as a whistle. More later...

Mozart K576

Every year or so I make a complete cycle through my music books, one piece after another while working on mostly on sight-reading, which has always been my weakness. I was so bad at it in college that I would memorize every piece of music as soon as possible so that I never had to depend on the sheet music.

I'm sure it is a type of dyslexia. Even after memorizing a piece and learning to play it fairly well, if I then try to play it while reading the notes, it usually becomes a tangled mess.

In any case, every year or so I come to a piece that put a final end to my music lessons: Mozart Sonata in D major, K576. I was in my final year at college, and my piano teacher asked me to pick a Mozart sonata to play for the upcoming semester. I picked K576. He said, "No, you will never be able to play that sonata. Pick another."

But that was his style of teaching--he could be very direct, known for making his students cry sometimes. But I insisted that I could learn the piece. So I went to work trying to memorize it, hours and hours of work, until I realized that he was right. After several embarrasing lessons he threatened to give me an F for the semester, so I quit.

Every year or so, I try to prove him wrong. I actually am getting better every year, at a snail's pace, so I'm not quite ready to give up. But I've already given up on K576 this year.

Whatever happened to my piano teacher? He committed suicide years ago, on a matter totally unconnected to my playing.

Mozart's K576

Fish and Frog Eggs

I have long suspected that the fish in our pond feasted on frog eggs and small tadpoles but I never had any proof, not until this week. After our rainstorms this weekend we had an orgy of frogs cavorting in the upper pond. Nothing new. This year they all gathered at the base of the leather-leaf fern, a six-foot tall plant with roots that extend several feet into the water.

These roots are very think, and the frogs are laying long strings of black eggs, like small black pearl necklaces, all tangled into the rubbery root spindles. If I were a fish, these would look very nice to me. Except I've never seen the koi interested in the frog eggs before.

But this year the fish went crazy; they rolled and splashed and jumped, and they fought their way through the roots, and not just for a few minutes. This craziness went on for a whole afternoon. Now the koi are fat and lazy and much less interesting in frog eggs.

If they were smart, they'd let the eggs hatch and wait for the tadpoles. But maybe they are smart. Maybe there are plenty eggs left (though I can see them). I am watching them...

Burned at Tea Time

The holes in the ceiling and above the hallway are fixed now, and the complexion above the door, in particular, turned out very nice because you can't really see the repair, which I suppose is what plastic surgery is all about, except that it pays more.

I can't help taking pictures though, if only to remind myself that I'm not just wandering around the house with a bucket and tools.

Jam has become one of those corporate guys who can't move on from the accomplishments of his youth, even though the bathroom project is just a memory now. He will repeat the story to anyone who will listen, of how the project foundered until he came along and organized things.

The new project--refinishing and painting the doors and trim--is much more mechanical, much less sexy, so he is having trouble generating the necessary drama. Coincidentally, I am having the same problem.

Apparently I burned myself with the tea kettle. I turned it on, just there on the counter top, and then proceeded to organize the cabinet above. A smokey, fleshy smell entered my nostrils before I actually felt anything--the underside of my right arm was just inches above the spout, and I now have a big red hole where my skin used to be.

Not enough has been said in this country about the dangers of tea and tea accessories.

The Hallway Project, Walls

If I look for it, I see the effects of old age throughout the house. Here's a shot of the hallway wall, where a section of the wall expanded and cracked because of moisture from above--it's just inches away from the attic fan opening, and we've had some leaks in the area.

I became intimately familiar with these walls when demolishing the guest bathroom. Unlike the walls of today, which are made from a chalky material, this wallboard from 1924 is made up of fibers and a thin plaster shell, so it expands and cracks when it gets wet. No problem. I've pulled down this entire section am replacing it.

Another thing I've wondered about is this view of daylight from the attic fan opening. In 1924 these louvers would have been opened most of the summer, and the gigantic fan above would pull air from the house. So these cracks would have been no big deal. I'm going to seal the opening.

I've tried the fan in the summer and it is impressive, like watching a small plane get ready to take off, but nothing can take the heat out of a Florida summer. Thinking back to life in 1924, this fan would have been indispensable if, in fact, anyone were here, but chances are that no one actually lived here in the summer--they would have arrived in the fall from somewhere up north. They would have marched up the stairs, first thing, and turned on the attic fan.

Another item on my hallway project is the bathroom door, which is in sad shape. It has been neglected over the years, poorly painted, pitifully primed, dinged and scraped. I'm going to give it a good restoration. All these things can be fixed.

What happens with old age? An opportunity to be young again.